D. MacHale - The Quillan Games

“I don’t understand,” I said. “Quillan isn’t a backward territory. Why haven’t they built machinery to do this work?”

“They have,” Nevva explained. “But machinery is expensive. People aren’t. At one time much of what you see being done here was automated. Blok had the machines destroyed.”

“But… why?” I asked. “It can’t be cheaper to have people do the work!”

“It is when you pay them slave wages,” Nevva answered. “Machinery must be serviced and repaired. People can be replaced. Besides, as long as these workers rely on Blok for their wages, the company controls their lives.”

It was like stepping through the looking glass. Blok was so completely in control of the territory and its people, it was more cost-effective to pay workers slave wages than to automate the manufacturing process. Blok was deliberately holding back the territory from advancing in order to keep control of the people. No, they were forcing the territory into taking a step backward. To the company, the people of Quillan were disposable. It was absolutely diabolical.

A horn sounded. The people stopped working, stood up, and filed out quickly and quietly. As hundreds of people exited to our right, a fresh group of workers entered from our left. The horn sounded, the new people sat down at the stations and picked right up where the other group had left off. The whole process from horn to horn probably took thirty seconds.

“They’re like living dados,” I said numbly.

“Oh, no,” Nevva said. “Dados have it much better. They don’t realize how bad off they are.”

I didn’t want to see anymore and asked to leave. Unfortunately, the worst was yet to come. Nevva took me to a building that from the outside didn’t look much different from any of the other buildings in the city. Big, gray, blah. The inside was a different story. It was a giant round space with a colossal domed ceiling. At one time it must have been a pretty fancy place. The walls were made of a light-colored brown brick. The dome itself looked like a stained-glass sculpture. The floor was made of a brilliant white marble. It reminded me of Grand Central Station in New York City. I wasn’t far off, because Nevva told me that at one time it had been a busy train station. There were dozens of gates ringing the circle that led to tracks. In the center was a structure that looked like a ticket booth with a golden ceiling. Along one wall was a big board that at one time must have shown the train schedule to travelers. I could imagine this place being a busy station with loads of people hurrying to far-off places.

It wasn’t like that anymore. The round structure couldn’t even be seen from the street because it was hidden by gray, windowless walls that made it disappear into the rest of the dismal cityscape. Inside, the place had gone grimy. The stained-glass ceiling had been bricked over from above so light wouldn’t shine through. The walls were streaked with dark stains. The marble floor was chipped up. The gold roof of the ticket booth was tarnished. It had been a long time since the place was used by travelers. Or at least, used by travelers who were there by choice.

The place was still busy, all right, but not with happy travelers. Nevva and I stood high above the floor, looking down from a window near the ceiling to observe the action below. I saw that the floor was loaded with people who stood in lines that snaked around wooden fences erected to keep them organized and moving. As if these fences weren’t enough, security dados wandered through the crowd, making sure there weren’t any problems. All the people in line had loops around their arms. I noticed in the street that not everybody had loops. But not in here. Each and every person wore a loop. They were all glowing yellow.

There were men and women of all ages, and some children. too. It didn’t look like the children were with adults either. They all looked to be on their own, and scared. They were pushed along by those in line in front or in back of them, or were prodded by a stern dado if they didn’t move fast enough. What made it even worse was that most of the little ones were crying.

The lines led to one of five tall desks. Behind each was a sour-looking person at a computer screen. As the next one in line reached the desk, this person referred to the screen, input something, then sent the traveler on his or her way to one of the gates that led to the trains. If I were on Second Earth, I’d say this looked like a busy train station and the people were checking in or buying tickets for their journey. But this wasn’t Second Earth.

I was about to ask Nevva what it all meant, when I heard a scream coming from the floor. A man had just checked in and apparently didn’t like what the guy behind the desk had to say, because he turned and ran away. He shouldn’t have bothered. The dados were all over him. They tackled the guy, then picked him up and dragged him toward one of the gates to the trains. The guy was screaming and crying the whole way. The reaction from the other people was mixed. Some looked away, but I saw a few women burst into tears. As soon as any kind of emotion was shown, a dado rushed right to that person. They didn’t do anything, they just walked alongside them, being all intimidating. I think it was a warning in case they decided to bolt.

“Do I really want to know what’s going on here?” I asked nervously.

“You may not want to, but you have to,” Nevva said. “These are the losers.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Exactly what I said,” Nevva countered. “This is where they bring those who have placed the ultimate bet, and lost. They are processed, categorized, filed, and then shipped off to where they will be needed most. It’s all very efficient. My guess is that fellow who ran away was headed for the tarz.”

“Whoa, wait,” I said. “You’re telling me these are all people who bet on the games and lost?”

“Only the ones who made the ultimate bet,” Nevva corrected me. “They are here to pay with their lives, or the lives of their loved ones.”

I looked down on the crying children. It was too much to believe. People were being treated like cattle.

“They don’t all die,” she said. “Some only have sentences that last a few quads. Others aren’t as lucky, like those sent to the tarz.” As she spoke she looked down on the people coldly. There was no emotion in her voice; she was just stating facts. I didn’t think it was because she didn’t care. After what had happened to her parents, I think she had built up some kind of defense mechanism. But this was all new to me. I didn’t know how to deal. I wanted to cry myself.

Nevva added, “I’m sure some of the people are here because they bet against you in Hook and Tock. After all, you were barely known to them.”

That rocked me. I had actually played a part in forcing these people to be torn from their families, and their lives, to be slaves of Blok. Worse. Many wouldn’t be coming back. I wanted to scream.

A little boy beat me to it. He yelped and ducked under the wooden fence to run away. I found myself silently cheering. I wanted him to run as far away from this insanity as his little legs would carry him. He didn’t deserve this. None of these people deserved this. All they were guilty of was being driven to desperation by the greed of Blok. This wasn’t their fault. Two dados chased the little guy. I never saw what happened to him, because he ducked into one of the tunnels that led to the trains, with the dados right after him. In my mind I pretended that he had escaped. I knew I was kidding myself, but I needed to believe it was possible to escape from this insanity.

“I gotta get outta here,” I said.

Nevva nodded and led me away from the window. I knew I’d never forget the image of the little running boy. My experience of the last few hours left me sad and angry. Saint Dane was right. This territory was lost. How could this have happened? Was it like he said? Was it all because of greed? I couldn’t accept that. There had to be more.