D. MacHale - The Quillan Games

“Nothing sinister?” I said. “This territory is a nightmare! The people here are zombies who have to gamble for food. They bet on games where people die. That’s not sinister?”

“No,” he answered. “That’s free will.” He chuckled and sat behind his desk. He put his feet up like he owned the place. If he was a trustee of Blok, I guess he did. “Whatever this territory has become, it is the fault of the people themselves. Doesn’t that make you happy?”

“Happy? Because…?”

“Because it’s exactly what you’re fighting for,” Saint Dane said innocently. “To make sure the territories can prosper without being influenced by the likes of me. Isn’t that right? Look around, Pendragon. This is what becomes of a territory when man’s true nature is left to take its natural course. Congratulations.”

“Give me a break,” I said. “You expect me to believe you had nothing to do with this?”

Saint Dane stood and strolled toward the huge window. I was glad he didn’t transform himself back into his normal image, the tall thin demon with the jagged red scars on his bald head. That would have sent me over the edge.

“As hard as you might find it to believe, it’s true,” he said.

“I’m simply an interested observer. The people of Quillan have no one but themselves to blame for what they’ve become.”

“I don’t believe you, ” I said.

Saint Dane looked out over the gray, grim city and said, “Pendragon, you are blind. Or at least you choose not to see what is in front of you. You believe there is good in everyone, and if given the choice, the path to prosperity and peace will always be taken. Well, that simply isn’t the case, as I’ve proved to you time and again, but you refuse to see.”

“All I see is you fooling people into thinking you’re helping them,” I said. “Being tricked into disaster isn’t the same as choosing disaster.”

“Ahh, but that brings us to Quillan,” Saint Dane said while clapping his bony hands together with glee. He enjoyed talking about people’s misery. Creep. “The people have found themselves in this dreadful condition for one reason and one reason alone. Greed.”

“Greed?” I echoed skeptically. “These people have nothing!”

“It wasn’t always like that,” Saint Dane said. “At one time Quillan wasn’t much different from your Second Earth. It was quite the prosperous territory. Most people lived in comfort, which created the perfect opportunity for an enterprise like Blok.”

“What exactly is Blok?” I asked quickly. “A store?”

“Indeed” was his answer. “At least, at its core. Several generations ago a small market opened, right here in the city of Rune. Blok. Their plan for success was simple: They offered products at a lower cost than their competitors. Much lower. It was an innocent business decision. Nothing devious. At first they lost so much money they nearly had to close. But they stayed afloat for one simple reason. People couldn’t resist the lure of paying so much less for all the things they wanted. It was as simple as that. So the people of Rune abandoned the other merchants and tripped over themselves to buy their goods from Blok. Little by little the other merchants lost so much business that they had to shut down, which gave Blok even more business. As the competition dwindled, Blok slowly raised their prices, though they continued to keep them much lower than their remaining competitors. Slowly Blok became profitable and powerful. What started as a small store that sold simple items like clothing and furniture grew. Blok began selling food and automobiles, all at such low prices that thrifty consumers couldn’t pass up the bargains, which made Blok even more profitable. As their business grew, Blok moved into manufacturing. They not only sold the items, they created them. Their mandate was to manufacture items as simply and cheaply as possible. They didn’t care about style or beauty or even quality, they cared about speed. The faster and simpler an item was made, the cheaper it was to sell, and low prices are what lured people to Blok. Eventually they forced other manufacturers out of business because they couldn’t create items as quickly or as cheaply as Blok.”

Saint Dane told this story with glee, as if it were the most fascinating bedtime story ever. I never thought much about stores and prices and who sold what and why, but I had to admit that the story of Blok was interesting… in a scary kind of way.

He continued, “Blok grew. It began buying other companies, folding them into their world. They moved into energy, real estate, banking, and communications. They bought hospitals and began providing medical services. They built their own schools. People followed like hungry sheep because whatever Blok sold, people bought. They simply couldn’t resist the prices. Blok lowered their workers wages, which increased their profits even more. They were becoming so huge, and employed so many people, the workers had no choice but to agree to the horrid terms of employment. If they refused, there was always someone ready to take their place, because Blok had become the number one employer on the territory. I think on your territory you would refer to it as ‘the only game in town,” Blok eventually moved into entertainment. They made movies and music and artwork, created by people who worked for them, with the prices they set and with their vision in mind.”

Saint Dane stepped away from the window and touched a sculpture that was a square piece of steel. There was nothing artistic about it. It was just a boring hunk of steel.

“Needless to say, the art they produced wasn’t inspired, but they were able to mass produce it, while at the same time closing down the art galleries and museums, so the only works of art that people saw came from Blok. You see, art makes people think. Blok didn’t want people to think. If that happened, they might have realized what was actually happening. After a time the people came to think the art that came from Blok was actually… interesting.”

What a horrible thought. A company that created all the art in the world in order to keep people from being inspired. It now made sense why the city was so gray and lifeless.

Saint Dane continued, “Blok grew so large that the economy of several small countries became dependent on the business they provided. At first governments welcomed them because Blok promised employment to so many. And not just in manufacturing. Blok needed farmland to grow food and research facilities to create new drugs. Blok swooped into these small countries with the promise of wealth and prosperity, only to become demanding slave masters. Workers were paid measly sums for working long hours-all to meet the demands of their employers. By the time these poor people realized what was happening, it was too late. Blok had destroyed their economy while making everyone dependent on the company. It was brilliant.”

Saint Dane gestured out to the gray city beyond the window. “Everything you see has been touched by Blok,” he said, almost in awe. “The city of Rune is only one small example. It is not an exaggeration to say that Blok runs the territory. There are governments, yes. They make their laws and have their elections but they wield no real power. Everything is controlled by Blok because Blok controls the money and the minds of the people. They even have their own security force of dados. It’s about greed, Pendragon. Blok offered something the people wanted, and they were all too quick to accept. And let’s not forget the people who founded Blok. They are quite wealthy. You won’t see them living in this wretched city. Oh no. The senior leaders of Blok live in a class by themselves, all over Quillan. And at the top of that pyramid are the trustees. If you think the castle of Veego and LaBerge is opulent, you should see how the trustees live. My name is Mr. Kay to, by the way. He lived on a particularly lush island that’s only a short hop from here in my jet.” He held out his hands and looked at them as if they belonged to somebody else. “I think I chose my vessel particularly well, don’t you?”