half-knotted rope twisted around his fingers, the wild look in his eyes—and know any plea on my part will be useless. Even I don’t think it’s a good idea to bring him. So I smack my hand on my forehead and say, «Oh, I forgot. It’s this stupid concussion. I was supposed to tell you to report to Beetee in Special Weaponry. He’s designed a new trident for you.»
At the word trident, it’s as if the old Finnick surfaces. «Really? What’s it do?»
«I don’t know. But if it’s anything like my bow and arrows, you’re going to love it,» I say. «You’ll need to train with it, though.»
«Right. Of course. I guess I better get down there,» he says.
«Finnick?» I say. «Maybe some pants?»
He looks down at his legs as if noticing his outfit for the first time. Then he whips off his hospital gown, leaving him in just his underwear. «Why? Do you find this»—he strikes a ridiculously provocative pose —«distracting?»
I can’t help laughing because it’s funny, and it’s extra funny because it makes Boggs look so uncomfortable, and I’m happy because Finnick actually sounds like the guy I met at the Quarter Quell.
«I’m only human, Odair.» I get in before the elevator doors close. «Sorry,» I say to Boggs.
«Don’t be. I thought you…handled that well,» he says. «Better than my having to arrest him, anyway.»
«Yeah,» I say. I sneak a sidelong glance at him. He’s probably in his mid-forties, with close-cropped gray hair and blue eyes. Incredible posture. He’s spoken out twice today in ways that make me think he would rather be friends than enemies. Maybe I should give him a chance. But he just seems so in step with Coin….
There’s a series of loud clicks. The elevator comes to a slight pause and then begins to move laterally to the left. «It goes sideways?» I ask.
«Yes. There’s a whole network of elevator paths under Thirteen,» he answers. «This one lies just above the transport spoke to the fifth airlift platform. It’s taking us to the Hangar.»
The Hangar. The dungeons. Special Defense. Somewhere food is grown. Power generated. Air and water purified. «Thirteen is even larger than I thought.»
«Can’t take credit for much of it,» says Boggs. «We basically inherited the place. It’s been all we can do to keep it running.»
The clicks resume. We drop down again briefly—just a couple of levels—and the doors open on the Hangar.
«Oh,» I let out involuntarily at the sight of the fleet. Row after row of different kinds of hovercraft. «Did you inherit these, too?»
«Some we manufactured. Some were part of the Capitol’s air force. They’ve been updated, of course,» says Boggs.
I feel that twinge of hatred against 13 again. «So, you had all this, and you left the rest of the districts defenseless against the Capitol.»
«It’s not that simple,» he shoots back. «We were in no position to launch a counterattack until recently. We could barely stay alive. After we’d overthrown and executed the Capitol’s people, only a handful of us even knew how to pilot. We could’ve nuked them with missiles, yes. But there’s always the larger question: If we engage in that type of war with the Capitol, would there be any human life left?»
«That sounds like what Peeta said. And you all called him a traitor,» I counter.
«Because he called for a cease-fire,» says Boggs. «You’ll notice neither side has launched nuclear weapons. We’re working it out the old-fashioned way. Over here, Soldier Everdeen.» He indicates one of the smaller hovercraft.
I mount the stairs and find it packed with the television crew and equipment. Everyone else is dressed in 13’s dark gray military jumpsuits, even Haymitch, although he seems unhappy about the snugness of his collar.
Fulvia Cardew hustles over and makes a sound of frustration when she sees my clean face. «All that work, down the drain. I’m not blaming you, Katniss. It’s just that very few people are born with camera-ready faces. Like him.» She snags Gale, who’s in a conversation with Plutarch, and spins him toward us. «Isn’t he handsome?»
Gale does look striking in the uniform, I guess. But the question just embarrasses us both, given our history. I’m trying to think of a witty comeback, when Boggs says brusquely, «Well, don’t expect us to be too impressed. We just saw Finnick Odair in his underwear.» I decide to go ahead and like Boggs.
There’s a warning of the upcoming takeoff and I strap myself into a seat next to Gale, facing off with Haymitch and Plutarch. We glide through a maze of tunnels that opens out onto a platform. Some sort of elevator device lifts the craft slowly up through the levels. All at once we’re outside in a large field surrounded by woods, then we rise off the platform and become wrapped in clouds.
Now that the flurry of activity leading up to this mission is over, I realize I have no idea what I’m facing on this trip to District 8. In fact, I know very little about the actual state of the war. Or what it would take to win it. Or what would happen if we did.
Plutarch tries to lay it out in simple terms for me. First of all, every district is currently at war with the Capitol except 2, which has always had a favored relationship with our enemies despite its participation in the Hunger Games. They get more food and better living conditions. After the Dark Days and the supposed destruction of 13, District 2 became the Capitol’s new center of defense, although it’s publicly presented as the home of the nation’s stone quarries, in the same way that 13 was known for graphite mining. District 2 not only manufactures weaponry, it trains and even supplies Peacekeepers.
«You mean…some of the Peacekeepers are born in Two?» I ask. «I thought they all came from the Capitol.»
Plutarch nods. «That’s what you’re supposed to think. And some do come from the Capitol. But its population could never sustain a force that size. Then there’s the problem of recruiting Capitol-raised citizens for a dull life of deprivation in the districts. A twenty-year commitment to the Peacekeepers, no marriage, no children allowed. Some buy into it for the honor of the thing, others take it on as an alternative to punishment. For instance, join the Peacekeepers and your debts are forgiven. Many people are swamped in debt in the Capitol, but not all of them are fit for military duty. So District Two is where we turn for additional troops. It’s a way for their people to escape poverty and a life in the quarries. They’re raised with a warrior mind-set. You’ve seen how eager their children are to volunteer to be tributes.»
Cato and Clove. Brutus and Enobaria. I’ve seen their eagerness and their bloodlust, too. «But all the other districts are on our side?» I ask.
«Yes. Our goal is to take over the districts one by one, ending with District Two, thus cutting off the Capitol’s supply chain. Then, once it’s weakened, we invade the Capitol itself,» says Plutarch. «That will be a whole other type of challenge. But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.»
«If we win, who would be in charge of the government?» Gale asks.
«Everyone,» Plutarch tells him. «We’re going to form a republic where the people of each district and the Capitol can elect their own representatives to be their voice in a centralized government. Don’t look so suspicious; it’s worked before.»
«In books,» Haymitch mutters.
«In history books,» says Plutarch. «And if our ancestors could do it, then we can, too.»
Frankly, our ancestors don’t seem much to brag about. I mean, look at the state they left us in, with the wars and the broken planet. Clearly, they didn’t care about what would happen to the people who came after them. But this republic idea sounds like an improvement over our current government.
«And if we lose?» I ask.
«If we lose?» Plutarch looks out at the clouds, and an ironic smile twists his lips. «Then I would expect next year’s Hunger Games to be quite unforgettable. That reminds me.» He takes a vial from his vest, shakes a few deep violet pills into his hand, and holds them out to us. «We named themnightlock in your honor, Katniss. The rebels can’t afford for any of us to be captured now. But I promise, it will be completely painless.»
I take hold of a capsule, unsure of where to put it. Plutarch taps a spot on my shoulder at the front of my left sleeve. I examine it and find a tiny pocket that both secures and conceals the pill. Even if my hands were tied, I could lean my head forward and bite it free.
Cinna, it seems, has thought of everything.
