The Quillan Games (7 page)

Tall gray buildings loomed above me. Some were like skyscrapers that would rival anything you could find in the big cities on Second Earth; others were smaller. But by smaller I'm talking twenty to thirty stories high. The buildings themselves didn't have much personality. Whoever designed them must have been the same guy who designed the drab clothing. There wasn't a lot of imagination going on there. The buildings were big and gray and, well, boring. The windows were spaced out in uniform rows, floor after floor. Looking across the wide street and up and down the boulevard, I saw similar buildings as far as the eye could see. The only variation from building to building was in height. They were all boxy rectangles that reached up to a gray, cloudy sky. I felt that if I closed my eyes and spun around, I wouldn't know which way was which. The sick thought hit me that finding my way to the flume was going to be a challenge. I was standing in
the middle of busy foot traffic, so I backed away to the side and stood with my back to one of these big gray buildings to get a better look at what was happening on eye level.

The street was packed with traffic. They had cars, kind of like on Second Earth. I'm sure you can guess what I'm going to say about them. Yep. Boring. They all had the same basic shape, which was rounded front to back. They were kind of like VW Beetles, but not as interesting-looking. Some were black, some silver. That's it. There were two-wheeled motor scooters as well. The people on those were able to move a little faster because there weren't as many, and they could slide between the cars. I guess it was kind of like those busy Asian cities at home, where there's so much traffic, many people ride motor scooters. It looked as if riding a scooter was the way to go because the cars were getting nowhere fast.

All the vehicles were pretty quiet, I'm happy to say, because the street was choked with them. They must have been electric powered, because I couldn't hear any engine sounds. They were all moving in the same direction, slowly. Nobody seemed too angry about it. I didn't hear any car horns or frustrated shouts. There were signal lights at the corners, but rather than the round red and green lights we're used to, a single, narrow blue light stretched above the roadway from sidewalk to sidewalk. When the light was lit, the traffic could move. When it went dark, the traffic stopped. I couldn't tell much difference between moving and stopped, but that's how it worked.

It was the same with the pedestrians. Like the people in the arcade, everyone was dressed in simple, drab clothing. But unlike the arcade, which was next to empty, there were loads of people on the street. People walked on the sidewalk in front of me, slowly but relentlessly. Those moving to my right were closer to the building, those moving to my left
were closer to the street. I didn't see much interaction. Everyone was in their own little gray world, thinking about whatever they were thinking about, going wherever they were going. The looks on their faces were blank. Maybe not as blank as those dado guys, but definitely spacey. I didn't see anyone laughing, or angry, or even talking. This was a busy, crowded city, yet it was eerily quiet.

On the ground level of the buildings were stores. Each with its own entrance. But unlike stores on Second Earth that used names to try to catch your attention, the signs above the doors here on Quillan all used the exact same typeface. The silver metallic letters were about eight inches high and mounted on a shiny black background. Stranger still, they didn't show the name of the store, all they said was exactly what you could buy there. I'm serious. I saw a sign that said
FOOD
. Another said
HEALTH CARE
. I saw signs that said
CLOTHING, HOUSING, DOCUMENTS, EMPLOYMENT, CHILD CARE
, and even one that said
LIGHT
. I'm not exactly sure what they sold there. Lightbulbs maybe? Every single store had the exact same kind of sign, no matter what they were selling. The lettering looked oddly familiar. It took me a minute to realize the style of the print was the same as I'd seen on the back of that plate that was being stored in the vast belowground warehouse. These signs looked the same as the one word on the back of those plates:
BLOK
.

I've painted a pretty bleak picture of this city. It was uniform, it was drab, it was dull. The best thing I can say is that it all seemed to function smoothly. It was like the workings of a fine-tuned clock where everything fit into place and operated the exact right way.

There was one more thing I haven't mentioned yet. I was saving this for last because it was the single most interesting thing I saw. Erected on the roofs of the smaller buildings were
billboards that looked like giant plasma TV screens. I'd say there was one on every block. They looked to be about twenty feet across by ten feet high. No matter where you stood, you could catch sight of one. Each of these screens had the exact same thing playing on it. For the longest time I saw nothing but colorful, animated patterns. Intricate 3-D geometric shapes danced and bounced and morphed into one another in a hypnotic dance. Along the bottom was a running crawl like you would see on those TV news channels at home. It gave information about the day, like the time—“17:2:07.” I thought that must be the time because it kept going up. The weather—“Clouds all day, followed by a chilly night with possible rain.” I also saw what looked like game results, but I had no idea who was playing or what the game was—“Pimbay d. Weej 14–2, Linnta d. Hammaba 103–100.”

Every so often the animated graphics would give way to the face of a pretty young woman or a handsome man. They were dressed the same as everybody else in the city, only they had small patches on their front pockets like the dado police dudes had on their arms. Each patch had a small “B.” These people were like TV newscasters who would speak right to the camera with a pleasant, soothing voice.

“There is a program of music this evening,” one announcer said, his voice booming through the city. “Please set your digits to the blue location at precisely nineteen-zero-fifty-six. Have the best day ever.” Then the bright, lively patterns would return for a few moments. Followed by another announcer who came on to say, “Drivers are needed for dislocation work. If you are working in sections four-four-two-seven through nine-seven-five-two, please report during the next work period. Have the best day ever.”

It went on and on like that. Every thirty seconds or so an announcer would come on to give some kind of report or
announcement and end it by saying: “Have the best day ever.” I expected a little yellow smiley face to pop on at the end. I hate little yellow smiley faces. Almost as much as I hate clowns.

The people walking along the street barely gave notice to the animated billboards. I didn't know why. I couldn't take my eyes off them. Not that they were all that exciting, but there was nothing else to look at! The city was so . . . gray. These billboards were the only sign of life. Okay, they were creepy, too, because it felt as if the people were being spoon-fed information by some grander force. But it was kind of cool looking down the long, straight street to see hundreds of the big TVs lined up for as far as I could see. It was like looking at a mirror, with another mirror to your back. You know how that makes it seem like you can see to infinity? Well, that's kind of the impression I got by looking down the street at these colorful TVs. If not for them, it would have seemed like a city populated by zombies. It was pretty depressing, but who was I to judge? Maybe these people were happy to be living this way.

Tweeeeeee!

A shrill whistle blast shattered the calm. Without thinking, I ducked back into the doorway of a store that sold soap. Across the street and a block to my right, I saw two big dado dudes run out from an alley, headed for the street, toward me. My first thought was
How did they find me
? I was about to turn and run when I realized that I didn't have to worry. I wasn't the quarry. Directly down the sidewalk to my right was a young guy running to get away from the dados. He looked terrified as he desperately tried to get through the people on the sidewalk. I figured he must have been a thief or something, because the dados definitely looked like police, with their gold helmets and dark green uniforms. Nobody
would give the guy a break and get out of his way. Nor did they try to stop him. It was like he wasn't even there. Even when he banged into a woman, nearly knocking her down. She didn't say a word. All she did was put her head down and continue walking as if nothing had happened. It was like these people were brain-dead! On the other hand, about a half block behind him the people in the street parted to allow the dados a clear path. I didn't know if the people wanted the dados to catch the guy, or if they were just being smart, because if they didn't move, they'd probably get bowled over. It looked like it would be only a matter of time before the dados caught the fugitive.

When the guy ran by me, I saw that the loop on his arm was glowing yellow, just like the guy who'd gotten carted off inside the arcade. I wondered if the big crime this guy had committed was that he had lost a game. As he ran by, I saw the panic on his face. He was breathing hard and sweating. It wasn't just because he was tired either. No way. This guy was scared. I felt bad for him, but then again, maybe he really was a thief and deserved to get caught. Either way, it wasn't my business. The guy continued past me, dodging pedestrians. I looked back to the chasing dados, who would soon pass by. I stepped back into the shadow of the doorway. I didn't want them to give up on the scared guy and pick on somebody who wasn't moving so fast. Me. Everyone parted to let them pass. I crouched down, but peeked out from between two people to get a better look at these dado guys. I actually thought they looked strangely familiar, but couldn't imagine where I might have seen these thugs before. Still, there was something about them that I recognized.

It was at that moment that a woman riding a motor scooter shot off the street, headed for the sidewalk. She jumped the curb, shouting: “Look out! The throttle is
jammed!” She was out of control. People dove out of the way. The woman maneuvered the bike into the space the pedestrians had cleared for the dados to run through. You guessed it, there was a collision coming.

“Help!” she shouted, and turned the motor scooter toward the running dados.

“Clear the way!” shouted one of the dados. His voice made me shudder. It didn't sound human. It was low and gravely and monotone, like he was some kind of, yes, I'll say it, like he was some kind of robot. Could it be? Were these dados actually robotic? His warning came too late. The woman saw the dados headed toward her. She screamed, and bailed off the bike. The bike fell on its side and skidded right toward the sprinting dados. They didn't have time to dodge it. The woman couldn't have hit them any more perfectly if she had been aiming. They were running side by side, and the careening bike hit them both at the ankles. They tumbled simultaneously, like circus performers. They hit the ground, rolled, and got tangled up in each other. It was a jumble of arms and legs and would have been kind of funny if the whole scene weren't so intense.

The woman tucked and rolled a few times. I wanted to run out to see if she was okay, but I had to keep a low profile. I wasn't on Quillan to get involved in minor disputes. I had bigger game to worry about, so to speak. So I stayed back and observed. The woman looked dazed as she sat up. Oddly, nobody else went to help her. If anything, all the pedestrians backed off even farther. There was now a wide circular clearing on the sidewalk, with two crumpled dados, a trashed motor scooter, and a dazed woman in the center. The woman looked pretty young. I'd say she was in her twenties. That was good. If she'd been really old, she probably would have been hurt by the fall. As it was, she looked to have only skinned
her elbows. She sat on the sidewalk, looking as if she were trying to clear her head.

A few feet from her the dados were getting their act together as well. They both surveyed the scene. I truly don't think they knew what hit them, until they saw the bike and the dazed woman. One of them jumped to his feet and looked in the direction that their quarry had gone. He started to go after him again, but the other grabbed his arm to stop him.

“He will not get far,” the second dado said in that same eerie, low robotic voice. The two turned their attention to the woman who had allowed the guy to get away. Both took a step toward her. They didn't look like they were worried about her well-being. They looked angry.

“What is your sequence?” the first dado demanded.

The woman looked up and was about to answer, when another guy suddenly pushed his way through the crowd and into the circle.

“Hey!” he shouted angrily at the woman. “What is wrong with you?” He looked even angrier than the dados. It was a guy with graying hair who could have been the woman's father. “I lend you my scoot and this is what you do? Drive like a crazy person?”

The woman didn't answer. She seemed too dazed. The guy didn't stop to help her. He went right to the scooter, or “scoot” as he called it, and picked it up. “If this is damaged, it'll come out of your pay!”

One of the dados grabbed him by the wrist and said, “Do you know this woman? She has obstructed a pursuit.”

The guy cowered a bit. He may have been steamed, but it was clear he didn't want to mess with a dado.

“Sure I know her,” he said. “She works for me. But not for long if she keeps acting so recklessly.” He then turned to the woman and barked, “Get back to the store now!”

“I—I'm sorry,” she stammered, and started to get up. “I lost control. It was the throttle—”

“I don't want to hear it,” the guy snarled. “Go!” The guy smiled at the dado and said, “Forgive me. She won't be driving a scoot again anytime soon. At least not one of mine!” Without waiting for a response, he started to wheel the scooter away.