Free The Quillan Games by D.J. MacHale

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 isjammed!” 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.
    â€œHelp!” she shouted, and turned the motor scooter toward the running dados.
    â€œClear 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 skinnedher 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.
    â€œHe 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.
    â€œWhat 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.
    â€œHey!” 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.
    â€œSure 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