“That’s just silly,” LaBerge chirped in. “Everyone knows who we are, no matter where they’re from.”
“I don’t,” I said flatly.
LaBerge snapped a look at me. I didn’t know if it was disbelief, or if he was hurt that I didn’t know who he was.
“Where are you from?” he asked.
Uh-oh. Not a good time to start telling the truth. But I didn’t know enough about Quillan to make something up. “You kidnapped me, stuck me in a room full of creepy clown dolls, then threw me into some game that nearly got me killed. I think it’s my turn to ask some questions.”
LaBerge shot a questioning look to Veego. She didn’t flinch. He looked back to me and said, “You are very, very wrong, Challenger Red. Those dolls aren’t creepy at all!”
“Oh, be quiet!” Veego snapped at him. “If he doesn’t understand why he’s here, then it will benefit us all to explain.” She gestured to the long banquet table and said, “Please, join us. We will answer all your questions.”
I was torn. I needed to know who these two were and what their connection to Saint Dane was, but on the other hand, they had a hand in killing the Traveler from Quillan. Part of me wanted to grab them and throw them both into the monstrous piston room I had just come through. But that wouldn’t get me any closer to Saint Dane. I needed to suck it up and play it their way.
“All right,” I said. “Where should I sit?”
“In the place of honor of course!” LaBerge said happily, as if we were suddenly buddies. “It’s where all the new challengers sit when they first arrive!” He gestured to a high-backed chair that was at the center of the table. I walked over to the chair, glared at LaBerge, then sat in another chair that was closer to the end. I don’t know why I did that. Probably just to annoy the guy. He stood there for a second, sniffed, then walked quickly back to his chair at one end of the table.
“Suit yourself!” he said in a huff.
As soon as I sat down, a servant appeared as if from nowhere. It was the same small bald guy in white with the two-tone tie who had shown me to my room. He placed a silver plate and some utensils down in front of me.
“Thanks, Fourteen,” I said.
LaBerge chuckled and said, “That’s Thirteen.”
I looked at the bald servant. He looked exactly like Fourteen. Either he was a twin or . . .
“Is he a dado?” I asked Veego.
Veego took her place at the other end of the table.
“They are quite useful, don’t you think?” Veego answered. “They always do what they are told and—”
“And they don’t ask questions,” LaBerge said with a smug smirk.
I decided to let it go. I still hadn’t gotten my mind around the fact that Quillan was loaded with lifelike robots. From what I had seen so far, they were used as servants and policemen. And spiders. Don’t forget the spiders.
“Are any of the challengers dados?” I asked.
LaBerge burst out laughing. Even Veego chuckled. I was glad I was amusing them.
“Of course not!” LaBerge said. “Where would our reputations be if we pitted programmable dados against each other? There’s no challenge in that, or drama.”
“So you two stage the Tato matches?” I asked.
“Among others,” Veego said. “Tato is one of our more popular contests. But there are so many unique games. The most popular on Quillan, if I may be so boastful. No others put on games that are as entertaining, and successful, as ours. You’ll see.”
I didn’t want to see.
“I invent the games,” LaBerge said proudly. “All of them. Big and small.”
He reached into his robe and pulled out a small handheld toy. It looked like the wooden handle of a jump rope, with a button on one end. He held it upright and pressed the button. Instantly there was a whistling tweeee sound and a spinning red propeller flew up and out of the end of the handle. It rose into the air for about five feet, then ran out of energy and gently fluttered back down. LaBerge watched it intently, then expertly caught it in the hollow end of the launcher, where it settled back with a click. He looked at me and smiled like a proud kid who had just accomplished the impossible.
“Don’t you just love playing Runkle?” he asked.
“Never heard of it,” I said flatly.
LaBerge’s eyes went wide. “How can you not know Runkle?” he shouted. “Every child on Quillan has a Runkle!”
“Sorry, must have missed it,” I said.
LaBerge dropped the toy on the table and took a drink from his goblet. “You are an odd one, Challenger Red,” he said, pouting.
“Ignore him,” Veego said to me. “He may seem like a buffoon, but he is quite brilliant. One must have a bit of the child in them to concoct such unique games.”
“Unique games where people get killed,” I added, staring right at Veego.
She stared back at me and said, “We provide a service. We didn’t create the demand.”
We held eye contact for a moment. Man, she was cold.
“If he comes up with the games, what’s your job?” I asked.
“I’m the more practical side of this partnership,” she said. “Where LaBerge imagines the games, I make them real. Part of that is to find able contestants, which is why you are here, Challenger Red.”
“So it was your idea to bring me here?” I asked.
Before she could answer, three more identical servant dados entered with trays of food. They placed the trays in front of each of us and backed away. I saw fruit and slices of meat and some orange gnarly-looking vegetables that could have been squash, or carrots, or potatoes, or anything else. LaBerge picked up one of these twisted veggies from his plate, took a big crunchy bite, and said haughtily, “I, on the other hand, love tribbun.”
That answered that question. The thought crossed my mind that this food might be poisoned, but I had to eat. I needed to keep up my strength and there was no telling when I’d get another chance. Besides, I figured if they wanted me to compete in their games, they weren’t going to kill me. At least not yet. I took a bite of the tribbun, and I’m surprised to say that it was actually pretty good. It was crunchy like a carrot, but had the sweet flavor of a melon. Actually, all the food was pretty good. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I started eating. I emptied my plate quickly, and Fourteen was right there to heap on more food. Or maybe it was Thirteen. Or Twelve. Sheesh.
“You see?” Veego said. “Challengers are treated very well.”
“Until they have to die,” I said.
“You keep saying that!” LaBerge shouted. “Don’t you understand? We offer you a better life! You know what it is like out there. It’s a harsh, miserable existence. Here, the challengers are pampered and fed like they never could be on the outside. Here you have music and art and servants at your disposal. Can you imagine how wonderful that is? And yes, all right, every so often we ask that you compete in our games. And there is some risk. But is that so much to ask in return for living the life of a king?”
“Well . . . yes,” I said. “I told you, I’m not playing your games.”
LaBerge smacked his hand on the table and shouted, “You will!”
“Sit down!” Veego barked.
“He is making me very upset!” LaBerge yelled back at her.
“Get used to it,” I said cockily.
LaBerge shot me an angry look. Before he could say anything, a door opened on the far side of the room. I glanced up, expecting to see Twelve, or Thirteen or Fifteen-and-a-Half or whatever, or possibly another dado cop charging in to see what all the shouting was about. It was none of these. Hurrying in with an armload of papers was a young woman. She was wearing an outfit similar to Veego’s. It was deep blue, with long pants and sleeves, and a jacket of the same color that came to her waist. Her clothes weren’t all that different from what the people wore outside in the city, but looked a bit more stylish. Or better made. Or something. Maybe it was the way they fit her, like the outfit was perfectly tailored. Yes, th
at’s the best way I can describe the outfit, and the woman, for that matter. Perfectly tailored. There wasn’t a wrinkle in sight. She had straight brown hair that was combed and parted on the side, and fell to just below her ears. Not one hair was out of place. She was pretty, too. Her eyes were big and brown and, I’m not quite sure how else to describe this, but they were . . . alive. Unlike most of the other people I had seen out there in the city of Rune, this woman looked like she had some spark. If I were to guess, I’d say she was a couple of years older than me. Maybe eighteen? Or nineteen? I’m not even sure how old I am anymore! She entered the room and walked quickly toward us. She seemed to be on a mission.
“Veego, LaBerge,” she said in a quick, professional way. “Good afternoon. I have the budget estimates from the trustees.”
She walked quickly past LaBerge without giving him a second look. This woman was all business. She didn’t have time for that goof. She didn’t notice me, either. She went right to the brains of the operation. Veego. She stood over the woman and held out the stack of white pages.
“I trust these will meet with your approval,” she said.
Wow, how stiff could you get? Veego looked up at her for a long moment without speaking. The woman looked kind of awkward standing there because Veego didn’t take the pages.
“Can’t you see we are in the middle of our meal?” Veego finally said. She may have sounded calm, but her voice was cold. “You come into my home, unannounced, uninvited, and proceed to annoy us with your personal concerns. Have you no manners?”
The woman blinked. Her efficient, professional appearance was shaken. “I—I apologize,” she said nervously. “I was told that getting these to you was triple important. I should have known you were—”
Veego grabbed the papers out of her hand. “Oh, be quiet!” she spat at the woman. Veego looked through the pages, and the woman backed away.
“Don’t move!” Veego ordered.
The woman froze. I felt sorry for her. She was totally intimidated. I can’t say that I blamed her. While Veego scanned the pages and LaBerge played with his Runkle toy, the woman stood there, looking uncomfortable. I watched as her eyes wandered around the room. When she finally saw me, she gasped and jumped back with such surprise you’d think I had shouted “Boo!”
Veego didn’t look up from the papers as she said, “Miss Winter, this is our new Challenger Red. Challenger Red, this is Nevva Winter.”
Nevva Winter. Interesting name. She opened her mouth as if to say something to me, but no words came out. That was weird. I knew the term “speechless,” but had never actually seen it happen.
“Hi,” I said.
She didn’t say anything. She didn’t close her mouth either.
LaBerge said in a singsong voice, “Nevva, Nevva, works all day, but doesn’t have the time to play.”
“Close your mouth, Miss Winter,” Veego said without looking at her.
Nevva Winter blinked. Seeing me had really thrown her for some reason. “I—I knew that the new challenger was due, but I didn’t expect it to be so soon,” she said, trying to put her efficient face back on. “In fact, he’s mentioned on page four of the file I brought and—”
Veego tossed the pages into the air.
“Unacceptable,” she declared.
The pages fluttered to the floor, spreading everywhere. LaBerge laughed and clapped. Idiot. Nevva Winter tried to catch the floating pages but only managed to grab a few before they hit the ground.
“Please, Veego!” she implored. “They’re in a specific order—”
“We have increased profits by twenty percent for each of the last seventeen quads,” Veego hissed through clenched teeth. “Those are unheard-of numbers, and if your panel of ignorant keepers doesn’t recognize that, LaBerge and I would be all too happy to return home and let any of our substandard competitors take on the challenge of following in our immensely successful footsteps.”
Nevva Winter quickly scooped up the pages and pushed them together, trying not to wrinkle them. It looked like she was trying to put them in order at the same time.
“Yes!” LaBerge added. “Let’s see how their precious profits look without us!”
“That appears to be a possibility,” Nevva Winter said.
“Huh?” LaBerge grunted in surprise.
While Nevva Winter gathered the papers, she said, “Maintaining this operation has proven to be very costly. I’m afraid that the trustees are trying to find some way to justify continuing their relationship with you.”
“What?” LaBerge shouted in horror. His bravura was gone. “They’re going to throw us out of our castle?”
Veego slowly got to her feet and stood over Nevva Winter.
“Was that a threat, Miss Winter?” she said in about as cold a tone as I’d ever heard.
Nevva Winter shoved the last paper onto the stack and got to her feet. She was so nervous she wouldn’t even look Veego in the eye. “I’m only telling you what the trustees have been discussing,” Miss Winter said, her voice cracking. “I’m only their assistant. I don’t make policy. But I can tell you that for every trustee who supports you, another thinks you should be doing better.”
“That’s impossible!” LaBerge shouted. “How can we do better than perfect?”
Nevva Winter looked right at Veego for the first time. Though she was knee-knocking-nervous, she didn’t blink. “I’m only passing along the information,” she said. “Perhaps you should talk to the trustees yourself.”
Veego stared at her for a moment, then backed away and walked toward me. “This gaming operation has been run longer and more successfully than any other on Quillan,” she said. It seemed like she was holding back anger. “That’s because I know what I’m doing. I have the experience, I have the resources, I have the games, and most of all, I know talent. I would very much like to meet with the trustees. Maybe then I can ask them why they have decided to interfere by telling me who to use in my competitions.”
“They aren’t trying to interfere—,” Nevva Winter said.
“But they are!” Veego shot back. “The trustees want the games to be competitive, yet they force me to use challengers who are unprepared. You saw the last Tato match. It was a travesty. Challenger Yellow was no match for Challenger Green. He wasn’t ready, yet the trustees forced me to use him!”
Challenger Yellow. She was talking about the Traveler from Quillan . . . a guy I never met and still didn’t know the name of. I fought back the urge to jump up and scream, “Why did you kill a Traveler?” But that wouldn’t have helped anything. I bit my lip, grabbed the chair, and did all I could to keep from exploding. That got even tougher when Veego put her hand on my shoulder. My skin crawled.
“And now they’ve sent me a new challenger,” she said. “Challenger Red. Did you know he was almost killed in our Hook gauntlet? Hmmm? He nearly failed the simplest of tests. Children have done better. Now your trustees expect me to stage the next Grand X with him?”
She was getting worked up. So was I. What was the Grand X? More importantly, how did these trustee people know about me? Who were they?
“Please tell your oh-so-wise employers something,” Veego continued. “I will not damage our reputation by presenting an inferior product.”
“No one is asking you to—”
“If they want me to play Challenger Red, I will. But he must first prove himself in a more challenging test.” She nodded to LaBerge.
LaBerge clapped his hands together like a giddy child and ran to the side wall of the banquet room, where a giant tapestry hung. He grabbed a velvet rope that dangled from the ceiling and turned back to me, saying, “You should be honored. Challengers don’t usually enter the Tock arena until much later in their training.”
I looked to Veego and asked, “What is this?”
Veego returned to her place at the head of the table. “You have come highly praised for your abilities, Challenger Red,” she said. “I, for one, have yet to see why.”
&
nbsp; “Who praised me?” I asked.
Veego didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. I was pretty sure of the answer. I smelled Saint Dane in this mess.
“Veego, please, this isn’t necessary,” Nevva Winter said nervously. “Challenger Red will be given adequate time to prepare for the Grand X.”
“Who will guarantee me that?” Veego snarled at her. “You? I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you and I don’t believe the trustees. I’m left with no choice. He will either prove himself worthy right here and now, or die trying.”
Uh-oh.
LaBerge yanked on the velvet rope. The tapestry pulled up toward the ceiling like a retracting window shade. Behind it, a large entryway was revealed, beyond which was another playing arena. Standing in the center of the arena were three guys wearing different color jerseys. Challengers Blue, White and Black. They each held long metal rods about seven feet long. Weapons. I was about to play another game, and this time I wasn’t going to be up against a mindless dado.
“Please, Veego,” Nevva Winter begged. “This is totally irregular.”
“What if I don’t want to play?” I asked.
“Nothing would make me happier,” Veego said. “It would prove to the trustees that you are unworthy, and you would be executed.”
Oh.
“And what happens if I play and lose?” I asked.
Veego smiled and said, “That would also make me happy, because the situation would be resolved.”
“You don’t want to lose at Tock,” Nevva Winter cautioned me.
That sounded ominous. I was beginning to think that making Veego happy meant making me dead. Not a lot of choices. Like I wrote to you guys before, on Quillan you play. You win, or you pay.
It looked like Challenger Red was about to make his debut.
JOURNAL #25
(CONTINUED)
QUILLAN
“I thought I passed the test,” I said to Veego. “Why are you putting me through this?”
“Because I don’t like being told how to run my business,” Veego answered with a snarl. “I don’t know why the trustees are forcing me to use you in the competitions. Their meddling will be the ruin of my games.”