Chapter 10 - Brendan - Square One

After the Reaping, it was right to work. I was left for a few minutes in yet another room of the massive mansion. The place somehow seemed bigger inside than ouside, like it had extra rooms hidden in folds or nooks not seen from outdoors. A guard stood outside, motionless and silent like a statue.

I knew that traditionally, it would be time for the family visits. I didn't have any family, though, not since my father's death, so I was just waiting to see what was coming. Kind of like stepping into the arena. It was such a weird feeling; usually, I had my days pretty well planned, or at least had a sense of control. I decided where I would go, what I would do. I had taken that for granted, but sitting in the dusty silence of that ill-used backroom, rubbing my hands nervously across the pristine leather of that couch, I realised that control was no longer a given. Of course, I could still control myself, if not my environment. I could make it, I knew it. No one knew the Games better than me.

After a while, a Capitolite woman, a complete stranger with died black hair and dramatic gold tattoos of geometrical patterns scrolling around her neck and face, dressed in full Capitol-gear from her knee-high red boots to her piles of perfectly-coiffed hair, loped into the room like she owned it. I almost felt like standing up to greet her, but stamped down the irrational instinct. I am in control. She looked me up and down, like a pet buyer would look over a new dog, and finally said, "you'll do."

"I'll do? I'm a former Gamemaker-Apprentice. I have the best chance, bar none, of winning." Didn't hurt to show some confidence; plus, it was the truth.

"Not if you don't get sponsors, dear," she said, a snarky tone creeping into her voice. She seemed to look over her shoulder, "You know, you could die for the sake of one good impression. One book of matches, one drink of water. And sponsors don't like smug. Anyways, I'm Cressida Atwood, and I'll be your mentor and escort throughout the Games. Consider me the Virgil to your Dante." So, my guide to Hell. Not as amusing to me as it was to her, but I laughed, sensing that she was just testing my general knowledge, for whatever reason. I read literature, you Capitol twit. I was hardly in the mood for jokes: how could she not realise that? Considering the situation? The door closed behind her, clicking shut with an air of finality.

But back to her point. I was not one to take an insult sitting down. "I'm not smug, and even if I was, it worked for Finnick Odair and Haymitch Abernathy."

"You are smug. It worked for them because they were good-looking. You're just -" she searched for the word - "shrimpy." I usually don't take put-downs seriously, but that stung. I was no slouch, and with a good prep team, I'd be as attractive as anyone! "And yet, I'm about to trust you with the biggest secret in the Capitol."

"Wha -"

"Shut up and listen. This is the only room you'll be in for the next three weeks that isn't microphoned, the only time I get to talk to you in actual private. Riots have begun outside, all around this building. That's why you're here - it's a delay, you were supposed to go right to a car. The Capitol is angry, rebellion's on the air. And we've found out a way to hijack the hovercraft, the one that takes out the Victor." She took a breath, let this sink in. Huh, a counter-coup. I should have figured: the Capitol had one source of power left to it, people. Despite the stripping of their wealth, despite the loss of the Peacekeepers and the end of the battle, there were angry people here. Angry about the removal of their wealth and power, but especially about these Games. But what did the new rebellion want with the Victor? "The hovercraft is fueled up when they get down to two survivors, so we should be able to save the last two. We need one of them to be Trish Snow."

"But - what about -"

"You? Doesn't matter. If you can get to the final two, you can live as well. That's the idea. But only if Trish is with you - the President's granddaughter needs to live."

"You need a symbol. Your own little Mockingjay, another pretty bird trained to sing the right tune."

"Exactly. And this one has a pedigree - her grandfather's admirers will flock to her." She laughed a little. "Pun intended." I faked a laugh. That was a terrible pun, but it never hurts to mildly flatter.

"And you need me to deliver her to you. In exchange for my survival." I let my words seep into the silence. "Why shouldn't I just take my chances? Try to be the Victor myself?"

"Sure, there's risk in trying to save Snow. But if you do, there's a place for you in the restored Panem. If you don't, well - tell me how merciful winners in coups are to the uncooperative."

Hmm, but here was the real question. "If you have the manpower to take the hovercraft, couldn't you do something bigger?"

"Our resources are finite. But tell me, Brendan, what was the secret to the original Games? You, of all people, should know. Tell me, Gamemaker."

"One person survived. Only one, so that the people were downtrodden enough. But one, so that they still had hope. So that next year's victims would fight, so that the people didn't simply give up." I thought I knew where she was going with this. "You'll save one extra, to show your goodness. To give a sense of success and hope. But you'll let the rest die. To anger the masses, to feed the fire. You probably want me to try and feed the fires, while I'm at it."

"Well, mostly because our resources are so finite - this plan has the best chance of succeeding. But still, you've really got it, Shrimpy! Yes, finding a few ways to show off the brutality of the Games would definitely be bonus points. But keep your own hands clean, you need to be sympathetic. Which you're not really, at first glance. Bit of a cold fish, but definitely smart as they say." What an odd blend of compliment and insult. This woman would drive me crazy over the next week, I knew it then.

The guard started to open the door, and at its first creak, Cressida whipped out a sheet of rumpled paper from her gaudy flame-patterned handbag and pointed at it. "And lastly, there'll be an interview session. Each Tribute gets five minutes, it's your time to really shine. Here, keep the schedule to remind you, Shrimpy. Don't want you getting lost." She handed me the paper with a wink, then turned to the guard, calm as anything. "Oh, are we ready to go, sir?"

The guard nodded, still expressionless as an automaton. There would probably be guys like that present everywhere, or at least cameras and microphones. I wouldn't be able to speak freely untill the Games were over. Either that, or I never would again... but I couldn't be going in with that attitude. Failure simply wasn't an option.

Another guard practically marched in, bringing a short boy with black hair. I hadn't caught his name at the Reaping. They started walking us down the hallways, and as we continued, Cressida introduced us. "Brendan, this is Yann Belliard. Yann, this is Brendan Greymark." We muttered greetings at each other, neither particuarly thrilled to meet someone who might kill us soon. Understandable. He seemed decently fit, and I somehow had an impression that he was no idiot. "Ah, Brendan, Yann was a geneticist in training before he came here, and was going to work on mutts for the Games. A very loyal Capitolite. He knows almost as much about these Games as you do." I could tell from her meaningful tone, the way she placed her emphasis, that she meant that Yann was also in on this plan. She went on to inform him that I was a former Gamemaker. "You two would do well in an alliance together. I can see you working together."

Hmm, why not? If I had Yann, who knew his muttations, myself, who knew the Games intimately, and maybe a couple of others - I could find those still loyal to the Capitol, maybe even a couple fools willing to die for it - I could make it to the end. We'd need a team, anyways. Numbers meant protection; someone to keep watch, ways to divide labour, extra sets of eyes looking out. Someone like me needed physical backup, too. If I chose correctly, picked the ones who wanted vengeance against the rebels or to show support for the Capitol, I wouldn't have backstabbing problems either. I was beginning to like this plan.

"I'd be happy to get some allies." Yann just smiled. I'd have to get a feel for this guy.

We'd arrived at a door, and continued on into a maze tunnels. Within five minutes, we were in the training centre - it was ingenious, how everything in the Capitol was linked like that. It made for some strategic vulnerablities, but also came in handy. I wonder if any rebels had ever thought of trying to use the tunnels to sneak into a government building, or even the Presidential Mansion...

We arrived in a plush apartment where we'd have to stay for the week to come. I was inexplicably jumpy - as if a Tribute would jump out from behind the couch. Save it for the Arena. I suppose it was just the sense that things had gotten real, that my next moves would affect my survival. Or lack thereof. Ah, well. The only thing to do this evening was to make a good impression on Yann - it was too early to talk strategy, not without seeing what the rest of our alliance might be like. Maybe two more members... but Trish Snow was a certainty. Trish, the little girl who fainted when she was drawn. I wondered what it would take to get her through the Arena. What a wimp, half of me muttered, she doesn't have the right stuff. Do you want to drag dead weight? The other half knew she was second in line to rule Panem. The President had meant to make Panem a hereditary dictatorship - with Presidents that passed their role on to descendants, like kings - and that made Trish very important to the Capitol supporters. Very important indeed.

There were four possible outcomes, I supposed - I could go for trying to be victor, and not try to save Trish. If the hovercraft-hijacking plan turned out, then I would face some very angry conspirators. Which, historically, didn't turn out well. If their plan didn't turn out, well, it was the Victory tour then on to whatever kind of life I wanted. If I did try to save Trish, it would be a greater risk, but it would also get me a relatively secure alliance. If the rescue plan turned out, I'd be a hero to the Capitol; if it didn't, I'd simply have to kill Trish. Easy, since she wasn't physically a threat.

I came to a pretty obvious conclusion: I'd better cover my ass. I couldn't risk the ire of the Capitol supporters, not if their plan turned out at all. That was my advantage; I saw change coming. I planned for the eventualities. No matter what happened, I could come out on top.