PLUTARCH'S LIVES

(Disclaimer: I have no business connection with HUNGER GAMES. My only purpose in writing this story is to have fun and maybe share it)

"Cressie," said Plutarch, "I think we may have found our Spartacus. Or perhaps I should say, a Spartaca."

"A girl?" asked Cressida. This was scarcely the sort of conversation lovers tended to have in bed, but this was a subject of importance to both of them.

"Yes. It's the girl tribute from District 12. The one they're calling 'The Girl On Fire' ".

"I remember seeing her at the parade. But that 'on fire' publicity stunt was probably her stylist's doing, not hers."

"Oh, it's not just because of the parade. You won't believe what happened during the judging today-"

The judging was usually considered by the Hunger Games staff as an ordeal to be avoided. Each tribute took about 15 minutes, and there were 24 of them, so the total sessions took 6 hours, and that didn't include the debates over evaluations. (That it was a far worse ordeal for the tributes, whose lives were on the line, didn't seem to occur to the staff). But Plutarch had a specific reason to volunteer.

He had discerned that over the years, an odd paradox had developed over the social status of the tributes. From the point of view of President Snow and most of the staff, they were expendable pawns, whose lives were forfeit. But the people of the Capitol were fascinated by them. Three days ago they had thronged the rail station, just to get a glimpse of the tributes as they arrived. And they had gone wild over the Girl on Fire.

Plutarch had been hoping for years to harness that popularity against the Games, to find a beloved tribute who could persuade the people to protest the games. But so far it never seemed to work. The losers were forgotten, no matter how popular they may have been a few days earlier. The victors usually were self-satisfied, unlikely to challenge the games which had made them rich and famous. So when the tributes did their individual auditions, and the judges evaluated them for the gamblers and sponsors, Plutarch was secretly looking for a potential leader.

Unfortunately the batch for the 74th games did not look promising. The Careers looked impressive, particular the macho Cato and the knife-throwing expert Clove, but neither looked like the type who would rebel. Plutarch was intrigued by the devious girl from District 5 and the powerfully built boy from District 11, but neither of them seemed to have any knack for connecting with other people. The boy was visibly angry at having been drafted into the deadly Games, but the hostility seemed to extend to the whole Capitol, and would not win supporters. The girl was so self-effacing that Plutarch couldn't even remember her name now. The girl from District 11 was good at climbing and might be able to survive for a time by hiding in trees, but that was unlikely to appeal to a superficial audience.

District 12 was the last chance. The boy was strong, and struck Plutarch as an intelligent fellow who might have useful skills outside the games, but not the leader type.

The girl picked up the bow and arrow. But her first shot was almost 10 centimeters off the center of the target, and Plutarch lost hope. Glimmer had had a better score than that, and Glimmer was no rebel.

As the other judges lost interest and began examining the lavish dinner being brought in, including a huge pig with an apple in its mouth, Plutarch brooded. They'd have to wait another year, or find another strategy. The next year was the 75th games, a Quarter Quell. Maybe –

Whoossssssh-

Something flew by less than a meter in front of Plutarch. Mindful of the fact that he was always in danger of being arrested by Peacekeepers, Plutarch was always on his guard against sudden surprises. He jumped back, hit the edge of a table, and fell further backward. He hit the edge of a punch bowl which dipped and doused him with fruit and alcohol.

It was a very embarrassing accident, and Plutarch was careful to leave that out when telling the story to Cressida. At the time, he expected all sorts of ridicule from fellow judges, many of whom hated him for his rapid rise in the staff. But they weren't looking at him, they were looking at the apple, now impaled on the wall by an arrow. The District 12 girl had shot it right out of the pig's mouth. That first missed shot had been a fluke; she was the best archer Plutarch had ever seen, far better than Glimmer. And someone rebellious enough to shoot her arrow in the direction of the Peacekeepers.

There was a lot of commotion. Some wanted to have the girl arrested and executed, as punishment for attacking the judges. One objected, pointing out that they needed all 24 tributes for the Games. He suggested, as an alternative, that they give her a severe flogging the night before the games and send her into the arena with no treatment for her wounds. Weakened by pain and blood loss, she wouldn't last long.

But others were fascinated by what they considered a daring stunt. They were not familiar, as Plutarch was, with the story of William Tell shooting an apple off of his son's head, but they were the more dazzled by her marksmanship for all that. Plutarch used a bit of reverse psychology, ranting and raving over the punch bowl incident, knowing that his rivals would like the way the girl had made him look like a fool and thus be less likely to punish her.

One judge even suggested that the girl be given the highest score of the lot, and both sides, weary after 6 hours of judging, agreed on that. To her defenders, it could be justified by the skill she had showed. Her detractors decided that if the Careers got jealous of her score and decided to kill her during the games, that could be considered a suitable punishment.

"I think she's perfect," Plutarch said, summing up his description. "Skillful and attractive enough to dazzle the audience, even leaving the girl-on-fire stunt aside. And bold enough to risk an attack on the judges."

"I agree, she sounds good," said Cressida, "but if you're spotting a lot of rebel potential in her, so may the President. He may order Seneca to make sure she dies. I know we've tried to make dead tributes into martyrs, but it's never worked." She sounded bitter. Plutarch knew that it was the death of a particular tribute that drove her into the rebellion, but it was not a common occurrence.

"Hmm," said Plutarch. "Unfortunately I don't have much leverage with Seneca. He thinks I'm after his job. And, actually, he's right."

"Well-", drawled Cressida. "I may have some leverage. He made a pass at me a couple of days ago."

"WHAT? Didn't he know that we're together?"

"Oh, yes. I think he got a kick out of the notion of stealing me from you. Sexy beard and all that."

Plutarch sulked, and Cressida pursued her idea. "I suppose that, if I were to agree to go to bed with him, I might be able to spy on his actions and even manipulate him a bit. Understand that it would be all for the cause. I much prefer you."

"It could work," Plutarch said reluctantly. "In the meantime, I'll sound out a few other people."

"All right." She sighed. "The things I do for the revolution! But I've got an innocent girl to avenge -"

TO BE CONTINUED