The Quillan Games (23 page)

I walked slowly into the ring, toward Veego and LaBerge. The numbers on the overhead scoreboard started flashing. It looked like a computer screen, with numbers rising and falling quickly. I had no idea how the betting was going. Did people get a look at me and think I had a chance? Or did they think I was pitiful and would soon be swimming in my own blood? Truth be told, I didn't care what anybody thought. I wasn't fighting for food, I was fighting for survival. Veego and LaBerge glanced up at the flashing numbers. They frowned and gave each other knowing looks.

“What?” I asked.

“You're not inspiring confidence,” Veego answered. “The betting is running twenty to one against you.”

Great. Everybody thought I would soon be hamburger.

“Good luck,” Veego said, and strode off.

“Have fun with it,” LaBerge said, and clapped me on the shoulder.

Fun? You say that to somebody before a basketball game, not a date with three swinging guillotines. LaBerge hopped out of the ring. I was left alone. The strobe lights kept flashing and the spotlights swept the floor. It was unnerving. Every time I got hit with a light, I was momentarily blinded.

“When do the lights stop?” I asked.

“They don't!” LaBerge called back. “It's all part of the fun.”

Right. More fun.

Above me the numbers on the board continued to move. I didn't know how long they were going to wait until closing the betting. I took the time to look around and formulate a strategy. An idea hit me that seemed too good to be true. I looked up and judged how far those killer pendulum balls would swing outside the circle, and guesstimated that it wouldn't be all that far. Nobody told me I couldn't leave the circle. I figured that all I had to do was run outside beyond the swing of those balls, then duck back inside to grab each flag. Could it be that easy?

No, it couldn't. A second after I formulated this plan, I heard a slow, steady
hummmm
sound. The wide circle we were standing in wasn't a painted line on the floor after all. It was the top edge of a metal cage! The cage rose up out of the floor until it became a circular steel curtain all around us. No wonder they didn't bother telling me I couldn't leave the circle.

“Anything else you haven't told me?” I called out.

“No, that's about it.” LaBerge chuckled. “Are you ready?”

“No,” I shouted back.

The numbers on the overhead board froze and flashed red.

“The wagering is complete,” Veego announced. “The Tock match will now begin!”

The strobes and spotlights flashed faster and brighter. I looked around, trying to figure out where the other challengers were. I saw them standing in their squares, holding their lethal silver pendulums, ready to pummel me.

LaBerge shouted out: “Four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . . TOCK!”

A horn sounded. The number started clicking down from 120. I had no way of knowing how much time I had before it hit 60 and I'd start losing blood. Or body parts. I dove to the ground in the general direction of one of the pedestals. I did
a somersault, bounced back to my feet, lunged at the flag . . . and got knocked into next week. One of the silver balls hit me like a speeding car. LaBerge had understated it. This didn't hurt, this was just . . . brutal. The ball hit me so hard in the side, I feared it broke a rib. Or three. The shot knocked me off my feet so fast and so hard that I rolled into the steel cage, slamming it almost as violently as the ball had slammed me. It was a good thing the ball hadn't hit me in the head.

I lay at the base of the steel cage, trying to get some air back into my lungs. I was in a spot where the steel balls couldn't reach. That was good. But the clock was ticking down. Fast. Lying there wasn't an option. Looking out, all three challengers had their Tock balls at the ready, waiting for me to make a move. I quickly rolled toward the closest pedestal, but a challenger expertly swung his ball out on an arc. It rounded the pedestal just as I stood up to grab the flag. I almost didn't see it because of the flashing strobes, but at the last second I sensed a shadow sailing for my head and I hit the ground. I felt the air move as the ball whistled over my head, barely missing me. I quickly stood up, thinking I'd have a few seconds in between shots. I was wrong. A second ball swung at me from the other direction. It hit me square on the spine, snapping my head back and sending me sprawling. All I could do was log-roll back to the base of the steel cage.

I was already hurting and the match had barely started. Those challengers were absolute experts in aiming those pendulums. I didn't stand a chance. A quick look up showed that the clock had already ticked down to 105. I knew that if I didn't come up with some kind of plan, I'd be done.

It's amazing how clear my thinking becomes in times of intense stress. It's happened to me before. I don't know if it's adrenaline or fear or blood flow or whatever. But when the pressure is at its worst, I think the most clearly. It also helps
that in situations like this there's no time to debate options. It's about going with instinct. That ability has saved my life many times. I looked at the challengers who were ready to bean me again. I looked at the clock. I looked at the whole arena. The answer came to me. I knew how to beat the game. At least, I knew what my only chance was. I wished I had thought of it sooner. When the blades came out spinning, my plan would be done. There wasn't time to question it. I had to go with my gut.

I crawled back for the pedestal with the flag, knowing that a silver ball would soon come sailing my way. The only question was, from where? This time I didn't focus on the pedestal, I focused on the Tock balls. Sure enough, I saw a deadly shadow sailing my way. I quickly judged the direction it was coming from and the speed it was traveling. Timing would be everything. Just as the ball was about to hit me, rather than ducking out of the way, I took a quick step back . . . and grabbed the ball. I had to hold on for all I was worth, because the thing was heavy and moving fast. But I would not be denied. The ball pulled me across the floor, dragging my feet. I needed to control it and keep it away from the other challengers. I didn't try to stop the ball so much as change its trajectory by pushing my feet off the floor.

I looked up at the clock: 74 . . . 73 . . .

I got control of the ball just as another ball came swinging toward me. I ducked and it flew past. I grabbed hold of the large Tock rock and looked for the nearest flag. I didn't swing the ball at the flag or at the other challengers. I ran with it and launched myself into the air like I was on a tire swing. The ball swung out, lifting me into the air moving directly toward the flag. I reached out and grabbed it as I swung by. Yes! I had one.

The clock was down to 70. Ten clicks to go. The momentum
of my swing brought me up past the pedestal. I reached the end of the arc, and my feet hit the metal cage. I bent my knees, glanced back to see where another flag was, and pushed off in the direction of my next target. I straddled the rope and sat on the steel ball. I leaned out, desperate to control the arc and continue on toward the next flag as . . .
clang!

Another ball hit my ball from behind, rattling my teeth. It nearly knocked me off, too. I managed to stay on, but I was nowhere near another flag. I had to stop, quickly jump off, aim myself, and sprint forward while holding the rope and the first flag. I dodged one more swinging ball and launched forward, rising back into the air. I had to hold the rope and the flag with one hand and reach out as far as possible, but I grabbed the second flag—67 . . . 66 . . . 65 . . .

The other challengers picked up their metal rods in anticipation of the blades whining to life. I swung past the pedestal and spun around, looking for the last flag. I sat on the ball with my legs dangling down . . . right where the blade would appear in a matter of seconds. I hoped that LaBerge was accurate about when they would come out. If they came out early . . .

When I reached the top of the arc and started back down, I realized that I was not headed in the right direction. No amount of pulling or weight shifting was going to get me there. There wasn't enough time for me to make another swing either. . . . 63 . . . 62 . . .

I swung down toward the center of the circle, along with the other two Tock rocks. I instinctively realized there was going to be a three-way collision, with me in the middle of it! The only thing I could do was bail. I flipped off the swinging ball seconds before the three collided. I hit the floor and tuck-rolled in what I hoped was the direction of the final flag . . . 60.

An instant before the balls crashed, I heard the piercing sound of the razor blades spinning to life. The three balls collided. The blades smashed into one another first, sending a shower of sparks and torn metal everywhere. I saw one of the challengers duck in fear. All around me bits of twisted metal from the splintered blades whizzed by. But I was not about to stop. I rolled one more time, misjudged where I was, and slammed into something hard. Ouch. But the pain was a small price to pay, for I realized I had smashed into the pedestal that held the third flag. I leaped up, grabbed the final flag, then crawled all the way back toward the center of the circle. The Tock rocks were swinging free. No way the other challengers were going to try to control them, even with the metal rods. They bounced off one another, headed in random directions with pieces of broken blade flying around like mad bees. I kept low, hoping I didn't get this far only to be stabbed by a random piece of hot metal.

When I reached the center, I slammed all three flags into the circle. A loud horn sounded and the lights of the arena came on. The strobe lights stopped flashing, the music ended. The whizzing sound of the spinning broken blades stopped, and the Tock rocks retracted back into the ceiling. Finally, the steel cage that had trapped me in this little circle of hell sank back into the floor. It was over. I lay there exhausted, the winner. Or maybe I should say, the survivor. My cheek was on the ground, right next to a big chunk of shattered blade that was stuck into the floor. I was beat, though I think it was more about coming down from the adrenaline rush than about being tired from the physical exertion. I couldn't even feel the bruises. That would come once I calmed down. I got up on my elbow and looked around to see blade splinters everywhere, along with one of the Tock rocks that had been severed from its rope.

The scoreboard flashed with red letters saying:
WINNER—CHALLENGER RED!
I liked the idea that a few daring people had bet on me and they'd be able to have food for a while. At least that would give some meaning to this whole idiotic event. The other challengers were okay, though Challenger White had a gash on his arm and was bleeding. I assumed that came from a flying chunk of blade. The guy stood up, and for the first time he looked at me. I expected to get the cold, hard stare of an injured enemy who was looking forward to a rematch. That's not what I got. Instead the guy nodded. It was a slight gesture, but I felt the acknowledgment that we were both in the same tough situation. Looking at the other two as they walked away, I saw them give me the same nod. Up until then I'd thought of them as nameless enemies whose job it was to beat me, which by the rules of that game meant they were supposed to kill me. I didn't think of them as anything more human that robot dados. What I realized at that moment was that we were all challengers, and all in the same boat. They probably didn't want to be fighting any more than I did.

The first person who came to me, I was surprised to see, was Nevva Winter. She ran into the circle and knelt down in front of me.

“Are you all right?” she asked, sounding concerned yet relieved.

“Sure,” I said. “You still owe me.”

“Yes, I do,” she said. “But I knew you'd win.”

“You did?” I asked. “How's that?”

Nevva Winter took a quick look to see that LaBerge and Veego weren't paying attention to us. The two were in some kind of heated discussion about . . . who cares. She reached up to her chest and put her hand between the buttons of her shirt.

“Because I expected nothing less . . . ”

She pulled out a dark beaded necklace that hung around her neck, hidden by the shirt. Dangling from it was a ring.

“From the lead Traveler.”

It was a Traveler ring.

(CONTINUED)

T
hings were happening a little too fast. I hadn't even caught my breath after having nearly been sliced into sushi, when Nevva Winter revealed to me that she had a Traveler ring. Seeing it gave me such a jolt, I think my brain momentarily froze. What was the deal? Had she taken it from Challenger Yellow after he died in the Tato match? I figured she must have, because how else would she have gotten it? Unless maybe it was her own ring, and she was the Traveler's acolyte. Or could it be that Challenger Yellow was an acolyte, and Nevva Winter was the Traveler from Quillan? Or maybe it was none of the above. Remember what I wrote before about how great I was at handling myself under pressure? Forget it. I was stunned into a semicoma.

Luckily, Nevva Winter was cooler than I was. She looked over her shoulder to see that Veego and LaBerge were headed our way. “Meet me later, in the octagon,” she whispered.

“The what?” I asked in confusion. I must have sounded like an idiot, because at that moment, I was an idiot.

“Congratulations!” LaBerge said. “No other challenger in the history of Tock was able to figure out how to beat the game so quickly. And believe me, dozens have tried. We've lost many a challenger to the blades. Bravo!”

He tried to help me to my feet, but I yanked my arm away. Veego joined us and stood looking at me with her arms folded, appraising me with that superior little smirk.

“What?” I asked angrily. “Wasn't I good enough for you?”