It took Donna far too much effort to convince Dr. Chu to give her the book about the trial Salperin's lawyer had told him about. Theodosius tried to talk her out of it, as the month he had spent without being able to speak to her had nearly driven him insane, but at the end of the day, he was just as curious.

To the great relief of most of them, and the consternation of the rest, the book focused on the trial of the key criminals. Donna picked gooseberry-blackcurrant berries with Theodosius, Vartha, Andrews, Torres, and Williamson, listening to Torres recount funny stories he must have read in the book. He and Andrews had already read the book and the other four hadn't, but Dr. Chu had promised to give her the book that evening. Hryb lay under an apple tree nearby, eating the berries.

"I can't believe you were arrested while eating lunch," Torres told Theodosius. He was holding a branch up in the air with two fingers, stripping it of its berries and putting them into the small bucket tied to his waist. "Was the lunch good, at least?"

"I remember every detail of that lunch." Theodosius tried to turn around, wincing as the thorns cut his bare skin. He was standing in the middle of the bush. "It wasn't even that good."

"Ouch." Torres put down the branch, wiped at his forehead, and picked up another one. It was blisteringly hot, and the pale Andrews was fully covered up despite how stifling the clothes must have been. Theodosius, who was only a little bit darker, preferred to take his chances with sunscreen, though he, as all of them, had an undershirt tucked into the back of his cap to protect his neck. "I really liked the bit about how your spouses befriended each other. How did they even decide to move in together? The book didn't say that."

Donna shrugged and put a berry into her bucket. "My husband noticed their housing situation was dire, and invited them over constantly. Eventually, they ended up officially staying there."

"That's nice," Andrews said. "The part about how Talvian's husband was forced to send his kids into the street to beg was depressing, though."

"I wonder what they're doing now." Williamson sat down on the dry grass to get at the bottom branches. "It's like the families of everyone who was executed simply disappeared."

The government had feared creating martyrs, but it had turned out to be the exact opposite. Nobody cared about the fifteen who had been executed, but debates over the Supermax and the other incarcerated Games criminals were always simmering under the surface. "Wasn't there a controversy a while back when one of Talvian's kids was fired from his job because of his name?"

Everyone shrugged. "Sounds vaguely familiar," Torres said, "but I don't know for sure. In any case, I can't recall any controversies besides that. Even Snow's granddaughter seems to have disappeared."

"Maybe she changed her name?" Williamson suggested, picking berries with both hands at once. "I think I heard a rumour once that her father kept his name after marriage. Maybe both she and Snow's daughter took on his name instead."

"I also heard that," Donna said. Snow's granddaughter was in her early thirties now, only a little bit older than her own daughter, who had turned thirty in June. Little Donna was a mature woman now, with a steady job, on her way to finishing her PhD, and with a husband and child. Donna had missed her daughter's entire youth. "I wonder what she's doing, though. She's practically the same age as my oldest."

"I wonder what everyone is doing," Vartha muttered. He picked a berry, ate it, picked another one, and put it in the bucket. "None of them have stepped up to help us. Maybe they're just resentful." He looked up, adjusted his cap, and wiped at his face. "I need more sunscreen."

The tube was obligingly passed around by Theodosius. All but Andrews, who had his own, waited their turn. Andrews took off the undershirt he wore wrapped around his face like a veil and smeared his entire face with it. "Your face is pink," Williamson said.

"It's hot," Andrews explained as he rubbed the sunscreen into his face.

That was so, but his face was a lurid pinkish-red, as if he had managed to get sunburnt through the cloth. "You look like you have sunstroke," Theodosius said worriedly. "Do I also look like that?" He looked at them.

"No," Torres said. "Your cheeks and nose are pink, though." He giggled. Theodosius did look pretty funny, with bright-red spots on his face that made him look like he was blushing.

"At least I'm not at risk for vitamin D deficiency in winter," Theodosius grumbled, scratching at his cheek. "You don't look too good, though, Mr. Andrews. Maybe you should sit down in the shade."

Andrews nodded, but Vartha only laughed harshly. "What shade?" he asked, indicating the yard with an outstretched arm. There was no shade anywhere, except under the trees, where the older and sicker ones were hiding out with books and newspapers. "And even there, it's going to be forty degrees."

"Maybe we should all move to the Arctic once we're released." Theodosius gingerly lifted a branch, mindful of the thorns, and looked at the berries that dangled from it.

"You think they'll let us in?" Donna asked, playing along.

"I'm sure they're grateful for every tourist they get." He tore off a dry berry and tossed it on the ground. "Worst comes to worst, we'll get fake passports. It'll be worth it to escape this heat."

Williamson went over to the large bucket Hryb was snacking from and emptied her small bucket into it. "I'd do it," she declared, walking back to the bush. "In a heartbeat."

Everyone nodded, not saying anything. A silence ensued for a while as they picked the berries. Donna crouched down to pick the ones at the bottom of the bush. Dealing with the outside of the bush was easy, but it was so big, the inside was barely reachable. She extended her hand, noticing a cluster of particularly large berries, and managed to miss them entirely. She tried again, leaning against the bush and trying to ignore the thorns scraping her bare shoulder. This time, her hand came away clutching a single berry.

"So," Theodosius said in a resigned tone, "what other interesting things did you learn from the book?"

Torres looked up from the bush. "I can't believe Wreath knew nothing about international law when he reported to the Capitol. From the exchanges in the book, he seemed to be at home discussing the definition of neutrality and things like that."

"He learned fast," Donna said, remembering how he had neatly sidestepped everything that could not be excused by military necessity.

"I wish my lawyer had been so competent," Williamson sighed. "I wouldn't have been here if she had attacked the evidence directly instead of running circles around herself."

Donna wondered what would have happened if Dr. Fisher had been more forceful, instead of borderline meek. She consoled herself with the fact that nobody had ever been able to push him around, and in any case the judges had referred to the transcripts when making their decision, where only the words said counted, and not the emotions. "Try not to think about that," she said. "Just focus on the fact that in one and a half years, you'll be free."

"That's scant consolation," Torres muttered. "That makes twenty years of my life, out the window. All I got out of it was gardening and crocheting skills, a tendency towards bad jokes, and an encyclopedic knowledge of modern philosophy. Not much compensation for nearly a third of my life." He ate a berry with a glum look on his face.

Arm inside the bush almost to the shoulder, Williamson nodded. "And I'm down two breasts on top of that. It probably would have happened in any case, but I think it's very symbolic."

"Symbolic how?" Theodosius asked. He rotated thirty or so degrees, looked at the berries he had yet to pick, and sighed.

"I'm literally leaving parts of myself behind here." Williamson took her arm out of the bush and shook it out.

Theodosius mock-shuddered. "That's why it's important to check yourself for cancer," he said. "Or else a part of you will remain here forever."

"I don't think that's what the directors mean when they refuse to release us early," Donna quipped, though Theodosius' joke had more reality to it than she cared to admit.

"Now that would be an option. Get released early, but minus a body part. I'd do it."

"Depending on what body part." Vartha tried to move a few branches aside and hissed in pain as he was pricked by a thorn. "And in any case, I'm rather attached to all of mine." Everyone laughed at that.

"By the way," Torres said, "the book goes over how the judges agreed on your sentences."

Donna felt as if the air had been sucked out of her lungs. Despite the heat, she felt cold, and her heart hammered away madly as her airway began to feel constricted. "Why didn't you say so to start with?" she demanded. It was hard to breathe, and she took long, measured breaths, trying to calm her body down.

"Couldn't think of a good way to put it," he said awkwardly. "And the book didn't even name names. Apparently, the author interviewed one of the judges, who kept a detailed diary, but they want to keep that information to themselves for now."

"So," Theodosius asked with a rictus grin, "how close did I come to getting a nice rope necklace?"

Vartha sighed. "I can't believe you can joke about this."

"It's my near-death, I joke about it if I want," Theodosius snapped. Turning back to Torres, he asked, "So?"

"For both of you, there was a lengthy argument," Torres began in a somber voice. He spoke quickly, as if wanting to have it be said as soon as possible. "Votes for your death were a minority, so the argument shifted to whether you'd get life or a term of years. They set the argument aside for later, and eventually reached a consensus when the faction who had originally supported the death penalty agreed to compromise because they were worried they'd be outvoted and you'd get what they thought was an unacceptably low sentence."

There was nothing surprising about that, in hindsight. Plenty had agreed that she was one of the less guilty ones, so there was nothing strange about some of the judges believing it, too. Still, though, she felt like she was about to have an anxiety attack. Donna rubbed at her neck, wishing she could tear it open somehow to allow more air in.

"I feel like I dodged a heavy artillery shell," Theodosius said ruefully. He climbed out of the bush and lay down on the ground, hands under his head. "It's strange, isn't it? There were people out there who tried to kill me. Kill me. My life was in the hands of thirteen people." He swallowed. "I wonder how many of the judges voted for death," he said in a quieter voice.

"Same." Donna sat back, facing him. It was hard to wrap her mind around. Someone had said that they wanted to see her dead, and someone else had disagreed. "All this arguing, while we sat in our cells, unaware of what else was going on in the building." She wondered if the decision had already been made when she had told her parents to expect the worst.

"Is there anything about me?" Hryb called out. His fingers were stained with berry juice.

Torres shook his head. "At the very end, there's an off-handed mention of you being sentenced to life. Nothing beyond that. The only thing it says about your trial is that it happened."

Even though the trial of the Gamemakers had begun first, it was seldom spoken of in the media. The fact that it had taken place in a different location probably played a role, as well as the fact that it had started under Coin.

"So there's nothing about us?" Vartha asked hopefully.

"There's already an entire movie about us," Williamson said acidly. "I don't think a book nobody's going to read can make it worse." She dropped a berry into her bucket. "How popular is the book, by the way?"

Torres shrugged. "The 'Read-Watch-Listen' rubric hasn't been blacked out recently, so I assume not very."

That was a good point. "In what style is the book written?" Donna asked. If it was an easy read as opposed to dry and academic, that would say a lot.

"It's no courtroom drama, but you don't need a legal education to understand it, either. It explains what an indictment is, what tu quoque means, stuff like that. A moderately well-read teenager would find it an easy read." That meant that anyone interested in the topic would be able to read it, and it going unmentioned in the press was a sign of little interest. Donna wasn't sure if she was happy about that or not.

Theodosius sat up, adjusting his cap. "Thank you very much for the mental image of a courtroom drama about our trial."

"There's one about us," Vartha said, "why not one about you?"

Donna imagined a courtroom drama with herself as one of the protagonists. Or would she be the antagonist? Or would it all be focused on the biggest names, with the ones who had survived being brushed under the rug?

She forced herself to stop thinking about that. "Is there a lot about us in the book?" she asked, gesturing to herself and Theodosius.

Torres shook his head. "The other side of the dock is featured much more prominently. There is a bit about your responsibility stuff, though. Also, I am certain that your psychologists were interviewed." He had no idea that Donna and Theodosius had the same one.

"How do you know that?" Donna asked, wondering if this is why Dr. Chu had grilled her about the past so often. Maybe she was just selling information, same as the guards. And maybe this is why she had been so reluctant to give her the book.

"It talks about what you thought of things on later reflection. Nothing unflattering, if that's what you're worried about." His face twisted. "You're even made into some sort of unsuspecting innocent. Both of you, in fact."

"I didn't ask them to write it," Theodosius said defensively.

Donna wondered what that meant for her. It was of course good if she was described positively in books, but the more people talked about her, the more unintended consequences there could be.

"In fact," Dr. Chu said, "why don't you read it right now, and tell me your thoughts as you go?"

Donna opened the heavy hardcover book. The jacket had been removed, but the inside cover contained a photograph of the dock at her trial. She studied it for a few seconds, naming everyone she could. That was Judge Sanchez, from Thirteen. That was Dr. Andric, Blatt's lawyer. That was Thumeka Makwetu, the journalist from Zimbabwe who had sat in the exact same spot every single day of the trial. That was Daniel Torres, the twenty-six-year-old prosecutor from Nine. Donna wondered what they had done in the past two decades. "I look young," she said.

"You're still not exactly old," Dr. Chu pointed out.

Turning the book around, Donna pointed out herself in the first row. "Maybe not, but I do have grey hair now. And wrinkles."

Dr. Chu smiled. "So do I." Her lemon-yellow kerchief covered up most of her hair, but Donna could see that it was grey at the temples. "That doesn't make me old."

The next page contained the title and a photo of Irons standing dramatically at the lectern. After that came the introduction. As Donna read, she began to doubt that this book would be in any way favourable, or even unbiased. On the very first page were two photographs - one of a mass grave, and the next - of the Justice Building they had been tried in.

To an unaware person, the above photograph depicts a mass grave, nothing more and nothing less. Had it only surfaced now, there would have been discussions about what it meant. Some would say one thing, others - another. A narrative would have been constructed, and powerful counter-narratives would have sprung up. In reality, though, there are no counter-narratives worth the name. What happened in the above photograph is a matter of historical record, thanks to what happened in the photograph below.

When my colleagues found out I was writing this book, I was often asked if I really wanted to get involved with it. Forget it, they said. Let the past be the past. Haven't the survivors suffered enough? Let them move on, don't force them to dwell on past traumas. Others told me I was needlessly reminding the Capitol of the crimes that had been perpetrated in their name, that unearthing the past would not result in anything good.

I, however, am a historian. Unearthing the past, discussing it, analyzing it - that is my job. I do not believe that reminding people of past crimes is worse than letting them live in blissful amnesia. To refuse to confront the past, to forget it, means losing one's ability to cope with it and to open oneself to the possibility of it happening again, in one way or another. And, as one who bears damage both physical and mental from NCIA torture, I believe that silence just makes it harder for the survivors to seek out understanding in a world that stubbornly pretends that they do not exist.

This book is the first secondary source on what is now known as simply 'The Lodgepole Trial' or 'The IDC Trial', despite the fact that there were fourteen trials begun by the Inter-District Committee, two of them - those of Coriolanus Snow and the Gamemakers - taking place beyond the walls of the Lodgepole Justice Building. Its transcripts have been published under the title 'Trial of the Major Criminals before the Inter-District Military Tribunal', and the official name of the case is 'Panem vs. Publius Dovek et al.' Thus, even the very name of the trial is cause for confusion, setting the scene for the various misconceptions popular in society.

I am not, however, the first to write about the trial of the key Games criminals, as they are often inaccurately called by those who only recall, of all the atrocities of the McCollum and Snow regimes, the Hunger Games. There have been a few articles written abroad, and they have served me well in my research, but they are naturally more focused on a certain aspect of the trial instead of serving as a general overview.

Many participants, from psychologists to clerks to guards, have written their own recollections of the trial, and many more agreed to lengthy interviews with me. I have often been asked why I seek to upturn the hornet's nest when there are so many witnesses around and the imprisoned and acquitted defendants - still alive, but that is precisely why I do it now. Unlike the historians of future decades and centuries, I have the privilege of being able to talk with countless individuals who have personally witnessed and participated in the events I write about. For their sake, copies of all interviews I have conducted are deposited in the federal archives.

Several individuals requested to remain anonymous. I have respected that. They are referred to in the book by false initials. Anyone wishing to contact them for further interviews should go to the archives themselves and find their real names there.

This book focuses narrowly on the trial itself and its participants, with the general circumstances described only when immediately relevant. Readers unfamiliar with or wishing to gain a deeper understanding of those turbulent times are advised to check out the list of works on the topic in the bibliography.

The first chapter is a brief overview of the Games regime, as it is commonly known in some parts of the country, and the background of the trial. Following that, I introduce the cast of characters - first the trial staff, and then the defendants. From there, I go through the trial chronologically, ending with the fifteen executions and a quick description of the aftermath, as well as a brief analysis of the significance of the trial. After that, there is an annotated bibliography.

Lastly, if you are a young person reading this book as the cloak of amnesia still covers the land - I confess to being arrogant enough to hope that this book could start to change that - I commend you for your desire to learn about our nation's painful history. This goes doubly so if you are from the Capitol and choose to come to terms with the past instead of being content with the fact that you were born too late to enable the regime and perpetrate its crimes, and thus are blameless.

"Well," Donna said, feeling slightly angry. "If Zina Bauble was a Rebel, I doubt this is going to be very flattering." She began to suspect Torres had been messing with her.

"Why do you think that?"

"Just look at that last paragraph. And why does she single out the Capitol? It's like she forgot about Verdant. And Thread."

Dr. Chu wrote something down. "At the end of the day, though, Two was still just one of the Districts."

"Yes, but they had more collaborators than all of the others put together! And two of them were in the dock with us!" Donna wondered why she was so upset by that. After all, the crimes committed by the Peacekeepers had been done on the orders of the repressive machine in the Capitol.

She began to read the book, only skimming over the first chapter, which was remarkably accurate. Donna started to get her hopes up. The chapter about the various people who had been in charge of the trial was fascinating, and, to her own surprise, she found herself enjoying the book. That was all dashed when the brief biography of Verdant turned out to be nearly exculpatory, stressing the atmosphere he had grown up in and the impact of Capitol propaganda. He was made out into someone who had joined the Peacekeepers despite himself. As the section about herself approached, Donna began to feel light-headed.

According to the book, she had always been overachieving and eager, and had never been involved with politics. Her classification in university as someone in the highest category of political reliability was explained as an inability to think about politics, much to Donna's relief. "Maybe Bauble is just being nice," she conceded. "This isn't what I feared it would be."

"And what did you fear?"

"Bad gossip being repeated as fact," she replied with a shrug. "Just look at the stuff the forced labourers said about me despite having never seen me."

The description of her arrest was humiliating to read, so she skipped it. Bauble seemed to delight in what she clearly thought were funny stories about how they were caught, but to Donna, there was nothing funny about them. "This is really crossing a line," she complained. "Why does Bauble think it's acceptable to interview the people who strip-searched me?"

"Is that what's bothering you the most?"

"My son is almost certain to read this, so yes," she snapped, continuing to read. Similar stories about the others were funny, but when it was about her, it ceased to be comical.

Theodosius was likewise described in a relatively positive way. Donna wasn't sure how a minister could be made out to have been apolitical, but Bauble claimed that he had never been anything more than a puppet. While Donna was sure that was false, she didn't say so, in case Theodosius wanted to take the same tack later. She continued reading, only to find out that Torres had been right. Theodosius had never said that his fateful lunch had been so absurd. His arrest read like something out of a comedy.

"We're being made into laughingstocks," Donna realized as she read about the slapstick arrest of the former minister. "If everyone were to read this, they'd let us out on the spot, assuming there was no way the two of us were capable of committing the crimes we were sentenced for." She kept her tone dismissive and jocular. If such a thing were to actually happen, it would be very welcome. "I think the author's just too nice, not biased."

"What makes you think that?" Dr. Chu asked, jotting down notes.

"She managed to turn our arrests into a comedy and wrote with sympathy about everyone. I think it's a deliberate step away from the spit and bile of the regular newspapers."

There was, however, a line Donna could tell would haunt her for a while. Those who find themselves in an atmosphere of stench and do not remove themselves will be covered with the smell for the rest of their life. She didn't bring it up to the psychologist, though, not wanting to get dragged into yet another conversation about responsibility. Dr. Chu was already quite close to breaking through her shell, and Donna didn't want to give her more opportunities.

Donna was barely out the door when Theodosius ran up to her. "You won't believe it," he said, eyes wide, breathing heavily. Donna wondered what could have happened in the short time while she was on a bathroom break.

"What is it?" she asked, trying to not get emotional as well. "Did something happen?"

Shaking his head, Theodosius looked around before taking a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. "Primus and Lars are dating," he said. "A guard gave me a printed-out article. Says so there."

"What?"

With shaking hands, Donna took the article from his hand and unfolded it, wondering why in the world had that made the newspapers. Shock turned to confusion as she began to read the article, which had nothing to do with Lars.

The Capitol may be in the throes of a self-inflicted amnesia, but the same does not hold for the small discussion group at the University of Panem that hosted a well-attended symposium the previous night. These young people, from all Districts and backgrounds, held a panel discussion about Zina Bauble's new book, 'The Trial of the Key Criminals'. Unflinching before the face of the past, they argued over what the trial meant for the new Panem, not afraid to confront the fact that, for many of them, their happy early memories were built on a foundation of horrors. The star of the show was the twenty-four-year-old Aulus Blues, a second-year law student, dedicated member of the university's legal aid organization - and the son of the master builder of the Arenas, on whose hands is the blood of thousands of forced labourers. He is a charming and intelligent young man and is in possession, from his father, of a powerful moral compass.

When interviewed by this correspondent, young Mr. Blues was nevertheless hesitant to discuss the question of his mother, especially in the light of our overwrought president's voiced desires to close the Supermax. He accepts her imprisonment as just, but he is still blinded by the fact of his relation to her. Confronted by a question about when he learned his mother is a criminal, he replied with a funny story about his older brother bringing newspapers home during the trial, much to their grandparents' dismay. He also says that he wouldn't mind a revanchist victory too much if it meant his mother could go free - perhaps an understandable impulse from a man who will next embrace his mother at the age of thirty-one, but it is still strange to hear that from the mouth of someone who scorns revanchism in all its forms and has donated his money and time to helping victims of the old regime.

Readers of The Daily Voice will be happy to know that, despite these understandable reservations, Aulus Blues and his siblings are a far cry from most of the children of their mother's onetime codefendants and fellow inmates. He refuses to speak about his younger siblings and older sister, who he claims are private individuals, but he proudly speaks of his older brother, a doctor in Two who is in a relationship with Primus Coll, a journalist for The Daily Voice, passionate fighter for social justice, and fellow child of a mass murderer. We can only hope that the generation of the children of perpetrators large and small can overcome this revanchist-led amnesia and help the nation come to terms with its past, once and for all.

Donna's first instinct was to tear the article to shreds. The backhanded compliments of her son were just nasty, and she was glad he had refused to talk about his siblings. The reference to Primus as a 'fellow child of a mass murderer' stung, and the phrasing of the article seemed to have been carefully picked to offend. "I'm glad Bauble didn't spew hate like this in her book," Donna grumbled. "I'll have a word with Aulus about talking to the press. This is not going to help me." And was this really the newspaper Primus was working for? No wonder Theodosius had always been vague about where his eldest child worked.

"Uh-huh," Theodosius said, running a hand through his hair. "I wonder why my son didn't think to entrust me with this news." He turned to Donna. "You know, if they get married, we'll be siblings-in-law."

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Donna warned. "Maybe they just started dating." She wasn't sure if she wanted her son to marry a journalist from a fringe newspaper, especially one that wrote borderline slander about her.

Aulus' reply to her questions arrived a few days later, brought in by Tia under the cover of taking a look at her stiff neck, which made her incapable of turning her head fully to the left. I swear I had no idea that person was a correspondent, he wrote. And they twisted my words out of context. Of course I think you should be released. I'd never work together with the sort of groups that campaign for it, but if there was a more reasonable one, I'd join it in a heartbeat. Don't worry too much about the article, please. The news site is so niche, I had never heard of it before Lars sent me the article. By the way, he and Primus have been dating for over a year now. They're a very cute couple.

A/N: While Donna and Theodosius were behind bars, their sons lived an entire enemies to friends to lovers fic :)

The 'privilege of late birth' the book mentions is inspired by Helmut Kohl's controversial statement about his own luck to have been born in 1930 - he was drafted into the army at the end of the war but never saw combat.

Gooseberry-blackcurrant hybrid berries are a real thing my grandparents have at their cottage. The berries are round and dark-purple. The bushes have large thorns, similar to gooseberries but thinner and longer, so they're easy to avoid when holding up a branch, but not when standing in the middle of the bush.