D. MacHale - The Quillan Games

“I worked too hard,” the guy shouted as the dados pulled him across the room toward a side door. He now sounded angry. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked. More so! I will not go back to the lower sector! I refuse!”

The dados were about to pull the guy out of the room when the first trustee raised his hand and said, “Stop!”

They stopped. Nobody in the room said a word.

“Are you refusing reassignment to the lower sector?” the trustee asked.

The guy’s eyes darted back and forth in panic. “No, I didn’t mean that,” he said, desperately backpedaling. “I’ll do whatever I have to. My family needs me. I’ll gladly go wherever-“

“Send him to the tarz,” the trustee said flatly.

“No!” the guy screamed. “This isn’t fair! I have a family!”

For the first time I heard sound coming from the audience. Several people exchanged surprised looks. Some even gasped softly.

I whispered to Veego, “Tarz?”

Veego put a finger to her lips to shush me. Whatever the tarz was, it wasn’t good. Looking at Veego gave me another surprise. The woman was normally ice, but at that moment she looked nervous. It wasn’t obvious, but I saw it in her eyes. Having that poor guy sent to the tarz, whatever it was, frightened her. Note to self: Avoid the Tarz.

The guy was now in hysterical tears. The trustees didn’t care. Nor did the dados. They dragged him out a side door that slammed shut after them. I could hear the guy whimpering for a few seconds until they got him farther away. In moments all was silent again. My mouth was dry. What had just happened? I stole looks at people and saw the same fear in their eyes that I saw in Veego’s. How twisted was this? Nevva Winter said that Blok was a store. What kind of store sentenced their people to some horrible fate if they didn’t meet a quota? For that matter, what kind of store was run by a group of cold-looking judges who terrified everyone, right down to the people on the street?

As I sat there, trying to make sense of what I had seen, Nevva entered from a door behind the trustees and silently placed papers in front of each. She looked very efficient as she quickly went about her business. She said she was a special assistant… whatever that meant. It seemed kind of dull to me. The other Travelers all led interesting lives, beyond the fact that they were Travelers, I mean. Loor was a warrior. Alder a knight. Gunny was the bell captain at a swanky hotel; Spader was an aquaneer; Aja Killian controlled an incredible virtual reality generator. Patrick from Third Earth was a teacher and a librarian at the most incredible library ever. Kasha had battled dinosaurs in the jungle as she foraged for food to feed her city. Each and every Traveler seemed to have an interesting, unique life, except for Nevva.

And I guess me. I was just a regular kid. I went to school; I played sports. End of story. I was thinking that I was the loser of the bunch, until I met Nevva. She was like a slave to these scary people. I could see by the way the trustees ordered her around, barely looking at her, that they had no respect for her. She ran around filling up their glasses with water and taking notes and basically doing simple tasks that these guys couldn’t do for themselves. Or wouldn’t do. It looked like a thankless job. But then again, she was close to a group that held a lot of power here on Quillan. I couldn’t help but think that as bad as the job was, she was in the right place for when Saint Dane made his move.

While Nevva scurried around, attending to the trustees, nobody in the audience said a word. I didn’t blame them. If the trustees had the power to banish them to some horrible fate on a whim, their guts must have been twisted with fear. Looking to Veego and LaBerge, I saw that they weren’t any different. I already told you how Veego looked scared. Well, if she looked scared, LaBerge looked absolutely nauseous. For a change he wasn’t smiling. I saw his lips tremble as if he were going to cry.

“Miss Winter!” one of the trustees barked. “We’re behind schedule.”

“Forgive me,” Nevva said, bowing her head. “It is entirely my fault. We are ready for the next presentation.”

Wow, Nevva treated them like royalty. Obnoxious royalty.

“Then why are we still waiting?” a woman trustee barked.

Nevva cleared her throat and announced to the group, “We will now hear the report from the gaming group.”

A murmur went through the crowd. I wasn’t sure if it was because they were excited about hearing from the gaming group, or just relieved that they weren’t the next victims. Veego cleared her throat and stood. LaBerge stood too, but Veego shot him a look and he quickly sat back down. If she was going to make a report to these creeps, she didn’t want LaBerge saying something stupid that would get them shipped off to the tarz. Smart move. Veego brushed off the front of her jacket and walked to the podium. She stood straight, like a soldier, but kept her head bowed. It felt like she didn’t want to look cocky in front of the trustees. I’m sure that was tough for her because, well, she was cocky. She took her place at the podium and stood with her hands behind her back, waiting for the go-ahead.

“We’re waiting,” one of the trustees said with an obnoxious growl.

“Thank you,” Veego said promptly. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I am proud to be here today and thrilled to present to you a report that I’m sure you will-“

One of the trustees interrupted, “Spare us the theatrics that you are so well known for. What is your response to our request?”

It looked to me like Veego had to stop herself from snapping back at the guy. I didn’t think she was used to being treated like a turd, but she was smart enough not to complain. As much as I detested Veego and her gruesome little operation, I felt sorry for her then. Not a lot, but still. Nobody should be treated like that.

“I understand,” she said in total control of her emotions. “My partner and I are very aware of and respect the trustees mandate to increase profits by 20 percent each quad. A challenge, I must point out, that we have never missed since taking over the gaming operation.”

“Yes, we’re all satisfied with your history,” one of the woman trustees said. “But it is history. With the resources we have provided, we feel as if you should be doing better.”

“Better?” shouted LaBerge, jumping to his feet. “How can we do better than perfect?”

The crowd gasped. LaBerge felt the hot eyes of everyone in the room on him, including those of the trustees. He flinched and smiled. “Forgive me,” he said meekly. “Pay no attention. I’m a fool.”

He sat back down and put his head in his hands. “I’m doomed,” he said to himself.

“Please forgive my overzealous partner,” Veego said, doing damage control. “It is that very passion that is necessary for the inspiration to create such interesting and successful games.”

LaBerge looked up, hopeful. Did the trustees buy that?

“Continue,” the woman trustee said.

I could feel LaBerge’s relief. He had dodged a bullet that he fired himself.

“Thank you,” Veego said. She turned and shot a quick glare at LaBerge that said, “Shut up, idiot.” She then continued, “As you know, the success of our games depends on many things: New and provocative contests that will generate excitement for those who wager; a tightly run organization that keeps expenses down; and perhaps most importantly, talented and athletic challengers who will provide us with well-fought games. It truly does not matter who wins, so long as the competitions are close. That is the only way to maximize wagering on both sides, since Blok benefits either way.”

However the games worked, Blok profited no matter who won. And from what I saw, lots of people bet on the games. Blok must have been making a small fortune by putting on these games. Or maybe a huge fortune.