ME: A/N: Inspired by Lorata's No Good Deed.
"You want District Twelve?"
Second Lieutenant Purnia Winters, having just graduated from the Peacekeeping Force Officer Candidates School, expected the Colonel serving as Commandant to oppose her request.
What she didn't expect, however, was for the Colonel to send Purnia to District Two's Head Peacekeeper, Major General Remus Thread, to, "Get any foolish ideas out of (her) head."
"Yes, sir," she answers crisply.
Thread is a freshly promoted Head; he gained his two-star rank and position when Purnia was halfway through OCS, about three months ago. The Panem Ministry of Enlightenment and Information loves to tell his story to the youth of District Two, about how he and his twin brother, Romulus, rose from two illegitimate children (they have a younger sister) of a Morphling-addicted prostitute to high-ranking Peacekeepers.
He doesn't approve, sighing. "Look, kid, you graduated second in your class." The top student was a Career but didn't end up as a Tribute, volunteering for Peacekeeping instead. It wasn't surprising-the Career Academy is officially the Warrior Academy, since training for the Hunger Games in advance is, supposedly, illegal and enforced throughout all the Districts.
"I know, sir." Purnia understands why Thread is trying to nip her plan in the bud; he's more humorous than his brother, but any sane officer will want a young man or woman like her working in Two.
"Miss Winters," Thread goes on, "you probably know by now that my siblings and I didn't get the same opportunities as you had just by coming from a household."
Unlike Ms. Thread, Purnia's mother married her father, a fellow weapons factory worker down south in her hometown of Sub-District One, better known as Pueblo (all the Sub-Districts have names; the numerical designations are only used in paperwork and whatnot); apparently that's what it was called during the time of the North Americans. Despite their occupations, both were reluctant to accept Purnia attending the Warrior Academy; they only signed off when she pointed out how it is a legitimate school-the best in Two, in fact-and she'd let the other girls risk it all in the Games. They both would've put their foot down and prohibited her from joining the Peacekeepers at sixteen (eighteen and above is the minimum age without parental permission) if Purnia hadn't pointed out she could just wait until eighteen to enlist and serve for a mandatory twenty years; evidently they just want her back home sooner.
"No one in District Twelve ever has our opportunities, sir."
Cadet Troop Leader Training (CTLT) is a crucial component of OCS; it enables Cadets to shadow units and experience leadership.
What it did for Purnia was open her eyes to reality. Twelve isn't merely the most humble District; it's poor in every sense of the word.
Thread shakes his head. "Look, if the rumors are true about Twelve, you probably came across the local black market. You wanna have fish and game? You can get that legally here, it won't be from unreliable poachers who handle their produce like dealers handle morphling and you won't have to live in some District we probably don't need anymore." As she proccesses that, he adds, "Literally the only two reasons I can think of for anyone-not just you, Lieutenant-voluntarily going there are hoping to have an easier shot at becoming a Head like Cray or the whores being cheaper than here."
Purnia winces. The Thread brothers had a harder time than she did, true, but unless one counts shadowing some unit in One they've never been out of Two. "It's Cray that does whoring, sir."
While she won't resent her superior for making a tasteless yet not malicious comment, she now remembers why she hates Cray to this day. She saw young girls from the worst part of Twelve, the Seam, gather near his house. Purnia could have forgiven him for having a house-Peacekeepers are only allowed private residences in their home Districts or the Capitol, the latter for whoever does join from there-but there's only one reason for skinny-no, starving-girls to wait near a home and rush at the chance to go inside with an older man. Best case scenario? Malnutrition making them look younger. Worst case scenario? Cray either doesn't care if they're legal or only asks to avoid digging himself into a deeper hole.
The General sighs. "If it were up to me, there'd be an investigation. Look, I know you want to help people, Miss Winters-and it's actually great to see that spirit in you-but we can't do anything about Cray without orders from President Snow himself. To be callous, Twelve isn't worth the effort to bring him in for a court-martial." He pauses just as her eyes widen. "All coal is used for these days is heating and cooking in the Production Districts. The electricity we get is all generated by either renewable sources like Pueblo's dam or fusion reactors; the steel mills use coke made from biomass or garbage instead of coal like the North Americans; finally, our vehicles run off hydrogen, electricity and deuterium.
"My point?" Thread looks her in the eye sympathetically. "There's nothing either of us can do."
Purnia remembers the younger widows of the coal miners who have all died in accidents, probably far more than any of Two's quarriers. She actually remembers being excited during a field trip to one of an outer village's mine. It makes her sick to her stomach now-in Two, children enjoy riding the mining train that takes goes from the bottom to the top of the quarry. In Twelve, they probably fear the elevators that most of them will use to get a meager salary when they grow up. Purnia remembers how the children of shopkeepers would let her sit at their table-contrast with Twelve, where the merchants largely struggle on a day-to-day basis just to have lives that barely meet the poorest of the poor's standards in Two and are envied by mining families who keel over from starvation. There is no love between the Town and the Seam; Two's society and culture is far from perfect, but it never has been as bad as Twelve's class division.
Purnia owes it to Twelve, and she tells Thread that.
He brings out a sheet of paper. "This is a list of assignments available to you here in Two. Assuming you still want it and we actually find you an available post out in Twelve, good luck. You'll just transfer out anyway."
Remarkably enough, Thread finds her a job as an administration officer in the Twelfth Peacekeeping Battalion's Headquarters and Service Company, the main component of the Garrison. After the obligatory disappointment in her not taking a job in Two, the older Peacekeeper simply tells her to, "Avoid the local moonshine, a bullet's a less painful way of committing suicide."
Her mother is crying when Purnia is about to be shipped out while her father accepts her decision with a heavy heart. Letters don't replace face-to-face contact, but she knows both will appreciate them.
The transport train is loaded with new Peacekeepers fresh from Recruit Training or OCS; however, most will be dropped off in Districts Three or Six as they head east. Purnia reflects as the train leaves Two-magnetic levitation means she barely notices anything when they depart and only knows for sure when the driver, who prefers to be referred to as a train operator, announces it-that she's the only person aboard who voluntarily requested Twelve; the others headed there are all bottom of the barrel or unlucky Boys and Girls in White who are inbound to fill vacancies in Twelve. All to ensure coal quotas are met rather than protect civilians, though she ruefully knows the National Government in the Capitol will never admit to it.
Purnia finishes musing on how hard would it be to electrify the heating and cooking systems in the Production Districts-or just get them to run on something they don't need starved miners to die for extracting-when the train stops.
When the twelve-coincidence or not?-Peacekeepers get off the train, a Lieutenant Colonel in charge of the Twelfth Peacekeeper Battalion greets them. He actually recognizes Purnia, so she gets to settle in while the other eleven follow him to the community home. Undoubtedly so the orphans will drive home the reality of Twelve.
Purnia does as she's ordered before going to the black market; she sees a pair of olive-skinned youths sell a dead dog to an old woman before leaving.
"Do you have any thing that isn't dog, ma'am?" She asks the vendor politely. The old woman doesn't fear her; at least that's good.
"It's all beef, dear," the woman smiles; she must be in her late sixties. "It's all beef."