Chapter 11 Plutarch's Histories
Cressida stared at Plutarch. "I don't understand. You're in charge of the media coverage of the Games!"
"Yes. To end the Games I need to be in power, and to get in power I need to support the Games. That sounds paradoxical, but that's the way things work in the Capitol."
Cressida wasn't in a mood to talk about paradox. She wanted to deal with this on the level of deep feelings. "What turned you against the Games? An experience like mine?"
"No, it was more theoretical. Thinking about what will happen when Snow dies."
Cressida gasped.
"No, I'm not talking about assassination. May I sit down? This will probably be a long discussion."
"All right. Can I pour you a drink?"
"Yes, and pour yourself one. It would probably help."
She got the glasses and alcohol out of her kitchen, and they settled down into comfortable chairs for a very unconventional conversation.
"You and I both have special permission to read pre-Panem records, ostensibly to look for ideas for the Hunger Games," Plutarch started. "You focus on mythology, I know. I look at history."
"One thing I noticed is that most advanced societies made some provision for the death of their leader, no matter how popular the leader was himself or herself. The backup went by different names – the Crown Prince, the Vice-President. In ancient Rome at its best, the emperor would search the Empire for the most talented person he could find, and groom him as his successor. What happened to societies that did not take that precaution? Well, when Julius Caesar was killed, there was a civil war with Octavian and Antony on one side and Brutus and Cassius on the other. Then another civil war between Octavian and Antony. Snow claims that he's keeping the peace in Panem. Actually, by not designating a successor, he's setting up a possible future war between future claimants. There are several possible heirs. The head of the Peacekeepers. The Chief Gamesmaster. And he has an illegitimate daughter that he's acknowledged, and I hear that she's expecting a baby."
"I haven't heard people discuss any of this."
"No, because it's dangerous talk. Snow discourages it. Not only that, he gives them a fake war to enjoy and occupy their minds. The Hunger Games. See the Boy from 8 die. See the Girl from 10 die. Who will win? And it doesn't matter, in the real world, who wins. Probably it will be Cashmere this year, and people will talk about how fascinating it is that a brother and sister and brother won back-to-back. So much more fascinating than who will be the ruler a few decades down the road. And when the people of the Capitol find out what a REAL war is like, they'll be utterly unprepared."
Plutarch took a drink. Maybe because he needed it, but it also punctuated a change of subject.
"There's another big difference between Panem and those realms of the past. Civilization never depended on a single nation before. Rome fell, but the Muslims preserved much of their knowledge, and so did monks in Europe. When China had civil wars, they at least had a powerful culture that could survive a given dynasty. But Panem is the only known civilizated state surviving in the world. If Panem falls, the whole world falls with it."
"What do you intend to do about it?"
"I don't know. In the past couple of years, I've been talking cautiously to like-minded people who are concerned about the future. We've formed a sort of organization. The general consensus is to try to strengthen the Districts. But that will be difficult to do under Snow's nose. It'll probably take years to get something done, and hopefully Snow survives in power that long. Another paradox, wanting a bad ruler to stay in power."
"Who are the people in your organization?"
"Sorry, Cressida, I can't tell you that yet. I've promised not to reveal their secrets without warning them. Just as I won't tell them about your loss of faith in the Games yet. As far as they're concerned you'll still be Cressida, Games Publicist."
"Thank you." But it was weird, thinking of all her acquaintances and wondering which ones were closet rebels. Suddenly she thought of one possibility: Caesar Flickermann. He acted and dressed like a clown, but working with him for years made her realize how professional he was . Tried to bring how the best in each tribute, even the least promising. Handling 24 interviews in a row, looking alert and interested when talking to Twelve even though
he must be exhausted by then. He refused to commentate on the Games themselves, leaving that to Claudius Templesmith, on the plausible excuse that the interviews had tired him out. Maybe he simply didn't have the heart to watch the deaths of kids whom he spoken to just the day before the Games.
But Plutarch was right: don't blow Caesar's cover.
"Count me in, Plutarch. I want to help you save our civilization."
THE END
