29. Sharing.
Room 54 on level nine turns out to be a small residential unit capable of sleeping four. All the rooms along this corridor have electronic signs outside the door displaying the names of those currently assigned as occupants. Only two names appear on the sign outside room 54; Cato's and mine. It seems Plutarch Heavensbee has pulled off some trick to allow Cato and I to share a room for tonight. To my surprise I see my few personal belongings have been moved into this room; as have Cato's.
"Were you aware we were both being moved into this room?" I ask.
"Um ... I was approached yesterday about the subject. I said I was okay with the switch, but I didn't know until just now that you had agreed."
"I never got asked."
"If you object, then I'll arrange for you to be moved elsewhere. I thought you'd be pleased."
"Of course I'm pleased. It's just the arrogance of these people in assuming that your consent was all that was needed. This rebellion is doomed to failure if these people remain in charge."
"Yeah, well from what I've heard, we're a long way off achieving a rebellion. Plutarch Heavensbee can plot and scheme as much as he likes, but in the end it will be the people in the districts who will achieve the result. Now, which bunk do you prefer to sleep in?"
"Which is yours?" I ask.
"I'll take this one," replies Cato. "If that's okay with you."
"Yeah, then that's mine too," I say, even though I know we wouldn't get a good night's sleep if we both squeeze onto such a narrow bunk.
Cato understands my meaning. He takes me in his arms and kisses me deeply. My anger at our unequal treatment only fuels my desire to have Cato ease my frustrations. And he's already made it clear that he wants to make out. So we do.
Four weeks of pent up desire explodes in a flurry of increasingly physical play. Despite our cramped room ... or perhaps because if it ... we manage to get quite inventive with our games. I know enough of Cato's likes and dislikes when having sex that I can control our encounters to some extent. It means I can often keep him on the edge of release without actually allowing him to reach the final pinnacle. It's a game which excites me as much as it frustrates Cato, and his interest is preserved when he occasionally wins our contest. He tries to turn the tables on me, but he's less attuned to my body's state and needs, and he rarely wins that game.
A beeping sound on both our schedulers brings us back to reality. We're both to attend a briefing session in half an hour. A briefing with who and about what isn't stated, but I assume it's related to this morning's meeting. We have slaked our lust for the time being, so we take the opportunity to have a shower and smarten ourselves up before the briefing. I'd hate for scruffy attire to have me demoted to a fourth class resident of this place ... and yes, black patched residents do exist here.
Cato and I report for the briefing exactly on time. This place operates like some mindless machine. Arriving a minute early or a minute late seems to cause untold problems. There are seven of us arriving within seconds of each other. Apart from Major Crowe, everyone attending is a civilian, although that term is misleading. Nearly all long term residents here have had some form of paramilitary training. I nod a greeting to the major's aide, which he returns.
"You can introduce yourselves later," says the major. "You all know who I am. We have a difficult mission to perform and we'll be starting out first thing tomorrow morning. That means we have no time to train as a team. You'll be working in pairs, and each pair has its own tasks to perform. Don't mess up or you'll get everyone killed. I'd have preferred to command an expedition with military personnel, but the commander didn't want to risk using District Thirteen soldiers so close to the Capitol. This is a mission requiring cunning, not brute force."
I resist the temptation to ask why the major is leading the team if the commander didn't want to involve the military.
"Objective: Retrieve four District Two civilians from house arrest and deposit them at a safe house," continues Major Crowe as though he's reading from an instruction manual. "Details in your briefing pack. Read, memorise and leave those packs here. Do not remove the packs from this room. Your life depends on this mission being kept a secret.
"Team One: you and you ... primary task is piloting and navigating the craft. Team Two: you and you ... primary task is to retrieve the civilians; get them to the safe house, and return to the craft. Team Three: you deal with any obstacles in Team Two's way. Full details of your assignments are in your packs. Any questions? No. Good. Dismissed."
The major struts out of the room, leaving the six of us looking bewildered. Well, perhaps not the major's aide, who is probably familiar with the major's ways. I know it was called a briefing, but that was brief to the point of being ridiculous. We each grab the briefing pack with our name on it and settle down to read the contents. Cato and I are Team Two, which makes sense since it's Cato's family whom we are rescuing.
"I'm Flaco," says the major's aide to the rest of us.
We each introduce ourselves and try to get a better understanding of why we've each been assigned to this mission. We discuss the mission and our expected roles. Apart from Cato, none of us have any unique reason for being picked. Even my inclusion is unclear, although I'm glad to be chosen. Flaco is presumably coming along because the major is leading the mission. How useful he and Zoe will be as Team Three is anybody's guess. Zoe has the added limitation of being profoundly deaf. Without her hearing aids she can't hear much at all. Hopefully my first impressions are wrong and she and Flaco will be up to the task. The pilot, Grace, and Braddock the navigator, can at least fly the stolen craft we are to use, but neither is particularly skilled at their role. There must be dozens of better qualified candidates for this mission. We break up our meeting an hour or so later with the key question "why me?" still unanswered. Flaco takes charge of disposing of our briefing packs.
I share my doubts with Cato as we lie wrapped in each others arms on the narrow bunk. Neither of us can sleep, and for the moment we have satisfied our primal urges. We talk for a while before eventually falling asleep. We don't wake until the clock alarm tells us it's time to prepare for our mission.
Ten minutes to departure and the seven of us are assembled by the air hopper we are to use. It's a six seater affair like the one Plutarch Heavensbee used to rescue Cato and I from District Seven. For all I know, it could even be the same craft. It doesn't take a mathematical genius to work out that one of us isn't going on this mission. I suddenly worry that it's going to be me.
I needn't have worried. The person staying behind is Major Crowe. He's obviously the sort who believes in leading from behind. Far behind. Grace and Braddock had probably worked that out yesterday when they were told what type of craft they would be flying. We board the craft with Cato and I taking the same rear seats that we arrived in. After the Chief Engineer's fall out of the right hand side door, I'm loathe to sit in the middle row seats.
"I shall be monitoring your progress from the command centre," says Major Crowe. "Don't fail me. And remember your radio call signs."
I feel for the small portable radio in my right trouser pocket. We've been allocated clothing that matches the style worn in District Two. My District Thirteen overalls are hanging in the changing room by the hanger. I'm glad to be free of both the scheduler from my wrist, and the red patch on my sleeve. For the first time in ages I look like an ordinary district girl.
Cato is looking quite nervous. I can imagine the concern running through his mind. His parents and brother are active in the movement for better rights for workers in the districts. With the government ordered crackdown in all the districts, his family will have been prime targets for harassment by the peacekeepers. Major Crowe said that currently that's limited to Cato's family being kept under house arrest, but information leaked to Major Crowe's bosses suggests they may soon be imprisoned, or even executed. Thankfully, District Thirteen has the resources to mount a quick rescue mission. Snatching potential resistance fighters to safety from under the peacekeepers' noses does more to ferment a rebellion than weeks of verbal propaganda.
Major Crowe has done his best to convince us that this mission will be straightforward. He insists that the source of the intelligence is reliable, and the peacekeepers aren't expecting any trouble. In fact, the major regards the mission as so routine that his presence on the mission isn't required. That level of confidence bothers me, since a mission like this can't be that simple. Cato is more concerned about his family, and the other four don't share my concerns. I just hope my intuition is wrong for once.
We take off shortly after dawn for the four hour meandering flight to District Two. Avoiding detection is the first challenge our mission faces, so our planned route has many changes of course. I hope Braddock is up to the task since the auto-navigator will be switched off as it will apparently betray our presence to the peacekeepers. Our next problem is that our small craft doesn't have the range to make the journey in one hop. We'll need to make a refuelling stop at one of District Thirteen's many secret supply dumps hidden in remote parts of Panem.
We arrive at a clearing in a hilly region in the middle of nowhere. It's one of the secret supply dumps. Grace and Braddock busy themselves refuelling the craft while the rest of us stretch our legs and answer a call of nature. We're about ninety minutes from our destination according to Braddock.
"I don't understand the major's plan," I say to Flaco. "Some parts simply don't make sense."
"Which is why he's an officer and we're just the grunts," replies Flaco dismissively.
"Perhaps. But why aren't we carrying any form of identification with us? If the peacekeepers see us we can neither fight nor bluff our way out of trouble."
"The major said we are to avoid the peacekeepers," says Flaco. "Stealth, not brawn, is the key to success."
Flaco is reciting the briefing notes as though he's memorised them word for word. Perhaps he has. He's not thinking for himself. I've no desire to bump into peacekeepers, but if that happens, what are we expected to do? I'm clearly not going to get an answer from Flaco.
We resume our journey. It's approaching midday by the time Braddock finds the field we are to land in. At least we all hope it's the correct field. Braddock didn't look all that confident while he was trying to locate the landing site. According to my watch we are already fifty minutes behind schedule. Cato, Flaco, Zoe and I leave the landing area quickly. Grace and Braddock report our arrival to Major Crowe and prepare the craft for a quick getaway. As we depart I can hear them discussing the state of the craft's fuel supply, which I guess has been depleted by our lengthy search for this landing site.
Cato knows this area so we make good progress towards the part of the town where his parents' house is located. There's no sign of any peacekeepers, and my earlier concerns start to ease. It's Cato who suddenly realises that things aren't as they should be.
"There's nobody about," says Cato. "It's a though this area has been evacuated."
Even though we're within a kilometre of his parents' house, Cato insists we stop where we are and hide. Flaco disagrees with Cato's decision.
"I think you're jumping at shadows," says Flaco. "Zoe and I will scout ahead and check the coast is clear."
Zoe is obviously uncertain about Flaco's casual attitude, but as an indoctrinated District Thirteen girl she doesn't object to a decision made by a man. Even a man who clearly has no idea what he's up against. I mentally reach for my bow and arrows to provide them with cover, but like everyone else on this mission, I'm unarmed.
Cato and I watch them carefully as they walk down the street towards the fountain in the small square up ahead. Then it happens. A loud squealing noise has Cato and I clutching our ears. The noise is coming from the square. Flaco is writhing on the ground in visible pain. Only Zoe is unaffected. She must have switched off her hearing aids.
Zoe tries to pull Flaco back towards us, but he's thrashing about too much for her to help him. Cato and I retreat until the noise no longer hurts our ears. Then the sound stops as suddenly as it started. Cato and I risk a look back towards the square and nearly collide with Zoe who has had to abandon Flaco where he lies.
