Donna pressed the button, hearing the whirr of the drill and feeling its vibration in her hand. It was quite heavy, barely light enough for her to use effectively with one hand, or so she assumed from holding it. The last time she had used power tools had been decades ago, but the feel of the little motor whirring away inside the drill was so achingly familiar, she couldn't help but smile.
Still holding the button, Donna felt the drill warm slightly in her hand, as if it was alive. The vibration furthered that impression, making her feel like the drill was trying to escape her hand. Donna put her other hand against the drill, feeling its power. Once, she had taken power tools for granted, but now, after years of hammers and shovels, she appreciated the might of the little motor. She took her finger off the button and lightly touched the tip of the drill bit. They had only been issued one drill bit and one screwdriver bit, which meant that they'd have to dig through the tins of screws to find the right size.
A cold breeze picked up, making her retreat deeper into the shed. Donna held the drill with two hands, feeling the warmth fade away. It was hard to believe she was holding it. For years, power tools had been prohibited, due to the alleged danger of suicide, but now she held one in her hands. She pressed the button lightly with a finger. Such power, and so little effort needed. She understood now why such tools had been created in the first place, felt it like she felt the vibrations of the drill in her hand. Using a drill would be so much easier than using a screwdriver, it felt almost unfair.
Donna wished she could keep the drill, but she'd have to return it once they finished attaching backs to all of the benches. She picked up a can of screws - the paper label was hopelessly stuck to the onetime coffee can - and headed towards the nearest bench, where Theodosius and Li already were with the planks of wood and other tools. It was freezing cold outside, everyone else was indoors, but the three of them had volunteered to stay outside and renovate the benches.
The planks that would form the back of the bench were already the right size, but the ones that would form armrests and provide additional support would have to be cut down. Two guards huddled under a tree nearby, both looking very unhappy at having drawn the short straw.
"There you are," Li said. "Screws go missing?"
"I found every single size of screw, but not the right one."
There was a box of metal brackets by Theodosius' feet. He took one out and checked to see if the screws fit, which they did. "So," he said. "How do we start this?"
Li scratched his head. Donna put on her gloves and looked at the pile of wood. "Maybe cut the planks down to size, attach the back support to one of the big planks, and secure it to the back?" she offered.
"This is going to look terrible," Li sighed.
"It already does," Donna pointed out. "Where's the measuring tape?"
They took one of the narrower planks and measured out the correct lengths. "How are your families doing?" Li asked, drawing a thick line on the plank with a pen.
"Fine," Theodosius said awkwardly. Li's mother had died just days ago, and he hadn't been allowed to go on furlough to meet her on her deathbed - though, at that point, she hadn't been able to recognize anyone - or even to attend her funeral. With others, Li tried to be stoic, but all of the men could hear him crying at night. "My wife is packing up to move out."
Dem, too, was planning to move out that week. Thanks to some arm-twisting on Donna's part, reminding a few of her former colleagues of how she had covered up for their political indiscretions, they had coughed up a sizable sum for her family. He would be exchanging a street of dilapidated townhouses packed with families for a small apartment in a nearby neighbourhood, and his commute would increase by half an hour, but he spoke about his new home in glowing terms and said he couldn't wait to have her join him. Once, Donna would have been horrified by the idea of living in a one-bedroom apartment in a working-class neighbourhood, but at this point, absolutely anywhere was desirable if it had Dem and not her fellow inmates.
"That's nice." Li stacked several planks and put an end of the plank he was holding on it. He held that end in place, Donna took the other one, and Theodosius picked up the saw to cut it. "And your sons?"
"He says they're not even thinking about it until he's got a full-time job," Donna replied as Theodosius began to move the saw back and forth. Lars was currently in his second year of residency in an ER, and according to his letters, the only reason he got enough sleep was because he prioritized it over a social life. And according to Primus, Lars only ate because he forced him to.
With a final cracking sound, the two pieces of the plank were separated. "Mine says that, at this rate, they'll have to get married in the ER during a rare half-minute break," Theodosius said.
"I'm sure things will calm down for your son eventually," Li told Donna consolingly.
Donna wasn't actually too worried. She knew that her son was a smart and responsible man who knew how to prioritize things. In his letters, he wrote casually about his lack of free time, bemoaning only the fact that he only had one day a week to play soccer. He worked twelve hours a day six days a week, but the lack of time off didn't seem to faze him. Neither was he bothered by the fact that Donna hadn't been able to see him since before he started residency. "He can't go on spending half his time at work," Donna agreed. Hopefully it would calm down eventually.
"Half his time?" Li put the small plank on top of the bigger one. "What happened to that eight-eight-eight stuff they were talking about? Also, could you drill a hole here?" he asked, drawing a large dot in pen.
The fight for the eight-hour day had been mostly a success. As the unions had demanded, nearly everyone could enjoy eight hours of work, eight hours of sleep, and eight hours of leisure, though young parents would have had something to say about these idealistic plans for the latter two-thirds of the day. Salaried employees couldn't be forced to work more than forty hours per week and had to be paid overtime if they did, but residents were technically not employees yet. "It used to be that residents could be forced to work thirty-six hour shifts," Donna explained, picking up the drill and resting the bit against the wood. She knew these things from Lars and Aulus. "Twelve hours a day is an improvement." She pressed the button lightly, watching the bit chew through the wood. Then she pressed on it harder, pushing on the drill. The metal went through wood like a hot knife through butter.
Donna took out the drill, let go of the button, and unscrewed the front to remove the bit. She put it in her pocket, knowing full well she'd forget where it was, and put in the screwdriver bit instead.
"I don't think I'd want to be treated by a resident who hasn't slept for thirty-six hours," Theodosius said, handing her a screw.
"That's why they changed it." Donna screwed in the screw a little bit too far by accident and had to reverse it. It had gone in in seconds, when using a screwdriver would have taken even Li a much longer time. Donna had read about how much time power tools had saved after being invented, but only now did she fully appreciate just how powerful even the smallest handheld power tool was. With this little drill, no longer would the strength of their hands be the limiting factor, not letting them work as long as they needed to.
Li looked at the screw. "That was fast," he said, touching it. "How many more should be put into this plank?"
There wasn't that much space there. "One more. We can have two screws per intersection."
"Sounds like a plan," Theodosius said, rubbing his hands together. "Can I use the drill next?"
"This bench is truly excellent," Best said with a smile, one arm draped over the just-made back. "And you worked quickly, too." All of the benches now had backs.
The first one had been the hardest, as they had struggled to decide what went where and how many brackets to use and how exactly were they supposed to be used in the first place. From there, they had simply done the same thing over and over. "I'm glad you like it," Donna said in a slightly breathless voice. She had just finished her jog, extra-long today, and one of the guards had said that if she could keep up that pace for an extra hour, she would be a champion marathon runner for her age category. Dem would be impressed.
"Let's hope the back doesn't fall off," Theodosius said half-seriously.
Vartha plopped down next to Best and leaned back. "No creaking or cracking. Seems sturdy to me." He put his hand on the armrest. "Though the armrest is a bit...angular."
"You could submit this to a carpentry magazine," Best said, running his hand over the top.
"As an example of what not to do?" Donna quipped. The bench was all right angles, and she doubted it could be comfortable to lean back against. It was held together with a myriad of square brackets and three armrests that were so obviously functional and not decorative, it looked almost funny. They were likewise right angles, with a diagonal support joining two corners to turn the rectangle into a triangle and make it stable. The amount of sawing it had taken to get the wood into the right length and angle had nearly made Li's arm fall off.
Best shook his head. "You made it up on the spot with no experience. It's great for a beginner."
"My son could have done better," Donna said, thinking of Octavius and his onetime devotion to his school play. "In fact, he has." Donna was sure she could never have made a telephone booth out of plywood and two-by-fours. It still graced the school, where it stood in the corridor and turned a boring wall-mounted telephone into an actual telephone booth.
"And my daughter knows more about my own case than I do," Vartha said. "That's kids for you. There's nothing you can do that they can't do better."
Best sighed. "Mine were both twice the officer I ever was." Both of his children had died during the Rebellion.
Verdant walked up to them, leaning heavily on his cane. His foot dragged over the frozen ground. "Excellent bench," he said, gingerly sitting down. "I especially like the armrest." He put his forearm on it, tapping his fingers against the wood.
"Thank you," Theodosius said. "We tried."
I'm sure the benches are stunning, Livia's note began, but I have news I think you might be interested in. The federal archives have contacted me, asking about your papers. I plan on handing them the ones we agreed on. Should I keep the rest hidden or destroy them?
Federal archives. That would mean historians digging through her documents, looking for bits of information that could help them with their research. Livia and Dancer had gone through her things before the trial, culling everything that would not have helped her case, but the thought still made her feel anxious. Donna thought about how best to phrase the request.
Release the less sensitive things, but be careful when separating them. Livia and Dancer's house was stuffed with Donna's papers and files, as well as her clandestine correspondence. As for the other things, keep them hidden. It would be a shame to have history disappear from the world, but now is not the time to release it. Perhaps once I'm dead, the entire matter can be put to rest.
Donna got extra paper from Tia that evening and tried to write out what exactly could and could not be released, but the next morning, something appeared in the newspapers to distract everyone from what they were doing.
"'I am tired, I am leaving'?" Blatt demanded to know as soon as she stepped out of her cell to return her tray. "How do we interpret that?"
"He knows his ratings are at rock-bottom because of the economic situation and wants to get some goodwill for such a selfless act," Grass said confidently, clutching her broom. "To hand over power voluntarily? Even the Communists will have to respect that."
Donna, too, wanted answers. Since when did presidents just up and quit? She couldn't fault him for wanting to have someone else deal with the situation, but it seemed to her that he was just dodging responsibility. "Is the vice-president going to take over?" she asked, leaning out of her cell. She was already dusting and sweeping.
"Yes, but not for long. There's going to be a swing to the left in the next elections, mark my words. The vice-president hasn't said a word publicly in three years, there's nothing she'll be able to do to fix it."
"So he just doesn't want to lose?"
Grass nodded. "Better quit early and gain respect by doing so than stay in power for half a year more and be trounced in the elections. And not running would still require him to step down from being the leader of his party, but without the public goodwill caused by this...leaving."
Donna thought about that as she finished cleaning and settled down to read for a while. It still seemed strange to her that someone in power could quit of their own volition, but if he had known it was either that, losing the elections badly, or quietly losing the party leadership, it made sense that he'd choose the option that would lead the people to think the best of him. The Star thought it would have been better had he stuck it out, but The Daily Observer lauded his decision to the skies, the first time they had reacted so positively to something he had said or done.
According to the newspapers, the dramatic pronouncement had already been parodied countless times, with the words being put into the mouths of everyone from quarreling spouses to other disliked politicians.
"Now if only the directors would also up and leave," Li said as he jogged next to Donna, "that would be great."
"But then they'd send us a new one," she pointed out. The director from Four had retired last month, and her replacement still looked at them as if he had just fallen into a parallel universe.
"There will be a new president, too," Li said. "I wonder what's going to happen there." He then proceeded to answer his own question, launching into a monologue about what the Social Democrats had done wrong during the last election and what they needed to do if they wanted to at least become the leading opposition party. Donna didn't appreciate Li's joke about how the leader of the Social Democrats only wanted the position because the leader of the opposition earned as much money as the president, but beyond that, she nodded along to his analysis.
"Interesting," Donna said one lap later as Li finally paused to breathe. "But don't you think that the far-right will lose popularity because of the recent series of assaults?"
Li shook his head. "Their supporters approve of assaults, if quietly."
Donna wondered how Aulus was able to reconcile his political beliefs with fighting to have her released. He asked merely for clemency, and even the directors had to agree that most of them would have been free by now had they been in a normal prison, but he still couldn't have been comfortable with his new place in society. "How was that book you read?" she asked, changing the topic.
"The one about the Games-watchers?" Donna nodded. She had been horrified to discover that there were teenagers nowadays who liked to watch old videos of the Hunger Games. "I found out something very interesting. Teenagers from the Districts reported more negative feelings about other Districts after watching those videos." Li leapt easily over an uneven bit in the ground. "And teenagers from the Capitol reported more negative feelings about the Districts generally."
"The historians will be all over that," Donna predicted. She waved to Theodosius as they passed him, and he waved back. "I'll have to ask my kids if they're aware of this phenomenon."
Li ducked down, did a cartwheel, and kept on running. "That's what the book said, too. Fits perfectly with that entire divide-and-rule thing. Can't say I'm surprised, though. The only time I ever had actual negative feelings about another District was when their Tribute killed one of ours. Guess that's why they had the poorest Districts win so often - it gave them that release valve and made them support their own oppression."
To that, Donna couldn't think of a good reply. The Games had indeed often been rigged to give Districts where protest moods were prevalent a release valve, a nasty maneuver where District people were first encouraged to view 'their' Tributes as somehow close to them despite not knowing them at all and then using this manufactured connection to throw uneasy Districts a bone by killing only one.
They continued jogging in silence until they completed the lap. "Well, then," Li said. "I am tired, I am leaving." He then jogged towards the door as Donna laughed.
As the day went on, the phrase was repeated endlessly. It was dramatically recited when getting up to move to a different part of the yard, when going for a bathroom break, and when they were called back for lunch.
"The next time a director retires, they should say that," Theodosius said as he stepped on the shovel.
Donna did likewise on the other side of the patch. The paths between the patches had become almost indistinguishable from the patches themselves, as soil had run off down, and the wooden sides were decaying and falling apart. It was strange to see something she herself had made look so dilapidated. Could she really have existed in the Supermax for long enough for wood to warp and start to rot?
"But how would they become tired in here?" she asked, picking up a shovelful of dirt and tossing it onto the patch. They'd smooth it out later. "They're not the ones swinging shovels." She felt miserable all of a sudden, and wished she hadn't thought about those sides.
Vartha stomped on the ground to get rid of some clumps of soil. He was working in front of them on a path perpendicular to theirs. "They're tired in a more abstract sense," he said. "They're tired of this place."
"Well, so am I, and I don't see them letting me out," Donna said bitterly. Thinking about the wooden sides had ruined her mood completely.
"Could be worse," Theodosius said.
Donna thought of Zelenka, who was currently resting in her cell because of heart issues. She then thought of Kadka, who had died the other week. At least he had gotten a few years of freedom before that. And thinking of his death brought the deaths of her old colleagues to mind. She had hoped that they'd hire her after getting out, but her chances of that were shrinking with every passing year. "That just makes me feel worse," she pointed out. "I don't want to think about how others have it worse than me."
"Very true," Vartha said. "There's no need to guilt us." He tossed a shovelful of soil onto the patch.
"He's not trying to guilt you."
Vartha slammed the shovel into the ground and leaned on it. "He did it by accident, then." He rotated to face Theodosius. "Yes, it could be worse. And it could be better. I understand you - that's how I, too, console myself - but I don't need it rubbed in my face."
"I'm not rubbing it in your face," Theodosius muttered. Vartha only had three years to go, when they had seven. "I'm consoling myself, as you said. Trying to remind myself."
With a huff, Vartha continued evening out the path. They were using square shovels, which meant that it was harder to dig with them, but at least the ground would be nice and even. "Remind yourself when I'm not around." He shoved the shovel forward with his foot. "My youngest promised to hold off on her marriage until I get out." Donna imagined Vartha being released and immediately being whisked off to a wedding even though it was the middle of the night. "Your words are no consolation when they're coming from you."
"Until you get out?" Donna asked. "Let's hope your future child-in-law doesn't get tired and leave before that."
Theodosius laughed, but Vartha didn't. He glared at her and looked back down, continuing to shovel.
Over the next month, Donna instructed Livia in what documents to release and not release as the former vice-president discovered a gift for malapropisms that rapidly endeared her to the nation. Nardi had always spoken from a prepared text and avoided interviews as much as possible, and the reason for that became clear when she revealed on live television that 'we wanted the best but it turned out like always', accurately summing up the entirety of Panem's history.
"'We will achieve all the points on the program from A to B'?" Ledge asked as he watered spinach seeds. "How am I supposed to interpret that? Is the program that short?" Politically, Ledge approved of the program and thought that, if anything, it did not go far enough. The former functionaries, however, disliked Nardi for her friendly manner and already-legendary sayings. In their minds, a politician needed to be distant and removed.
"I think she meant 'A to Z'," Theodosius corrected him gently. And compared to 'If I was from the Districts, why would I be ashamed of it? I'm not from the Districts, though' or 'So what that we promised? We didn't do it', that was nothing.
Ledge put down the can. "Of course that's what she meant! But half the world thinks we have a president who's refusing to get treatment for aphasia. They're probably laughing at us!"
In fact, most of the international voices quoted in The World were glad that Panem finally had a president who was capable of laughing at themselves. Others were worried about the way that she normalized views that had been considered relatively radical just a few years ago. Donna didn't bring that up, though, not wanting to argue with Ledge.
Instead, she thought about Livia's most recent note. Her old friend was unsure what to do with several large boxes of documents pertaining to Donna's visits to on location. They were a mix of harmless and dangerous, and trying to separate them would cause suspicion over the gaps. Not releasing them at all, however, would deprive historians of access to some important information. Livia had told Donna that a PhD student was writing their dissertation about the construction of the Arenas during her tenure as Head Engineer, and Donna didn't want to waste the opportunity.
The opportunity was as great as the risk. That photograph Dr. Chu had dug up years ago had fortunately turned out to be a one-off, and in any case, Livia was well-equipped with documents that would explain it away. On the other hand, Donna wasn't sure if she liked the idea of a historian poking through her papers. The slightest slip-up, and there would be accusations of a cover-up. While there wasn't anything that could be legally done to her - the statute of limitations had expired for almost anything Donna could think of, and the rest would be covered by the principle of double jeopardy - the last thing she needed was for it to hit the media.
People were gradually becoming more and more historically conscious. There was no way of getting around it. According to Aulus, the situation was a tinderbox becoming more and more packed with every political misstep and hate crime, and he wasn't holding out much hope for it being peacefully defused. Donna knew she had to step carefully, but the allure of the opportunity to set the record straight was too much.
"-you listening? Mrs. Blues?"
"What?" Donna asked, nearly jumping into the air. She realized she had drifted off and looked around herself. Ledge was scrutinizing the just-watered spinach seeds, and Theodosius was contemplating the peas he was about to plant.
"I was asking what you think of our new president." Ledge didn't look up, still staring at the ground as if it was about to reveal his release date.
"We'll wait and see how things go," Donna said carefully.
Ledge nodded. "That we will."
Shortly after reading a newspaper where Nardi was quoted as saying that 'You can't put the cart in the horse', Zelenka had a heart attack and had to be hospitalized.
"Finally, they do the smart thing," Grass grumbled as she untangled her yarn. It was raining outside, which meant that they were stuck indoors for now. Even the exercise period had been cut short. "Where is she?" she asked the sole guard, who was one of Donna's letter-carriers. The other guard was relatively strict, but he had also left immediately after getting there, leaving just the middle-aged woman from Twelve to watch over the twenty-six of them. Donna touched the paper bag of samosas that was in her pocket with her elbow. They had arrived yesterday, and this would be the perfect opportunity.
The guard lounged in the armchair, clearly enjoying the softness. Donna moved around on the bench, wishing she could sit on something soft, too. She was nowhere near the worst off, though - Xu didn't have a gram of fat on her, but she sat without complaint on the rock-hard wood. They all sat, listening attentively to the guard. "Military hospital," the guard said in a casual voice. "She's stable."
"That's good," several voices chorused.
"When will she be back?" Melton asked.
"Within a week," Katz replied, "but it might take a few months for her to get back to normal."
"You couldn't have said that when we were outside?" Koy asked angrily. HIs hands were clenched into fists in his lap.
Katz shrugged. "I thought you knew," she said apologetically. Turning to the guard, she asked "What sort of conditions are there in the hospital?" to defuse the situation.
"Top-notch. The hospital's pretty full now, though, so while she's got her own room, the people in the neighbouring rooms aren't too happy with the contingent of guards in the corridor." Donna realized that even in a hospital, the security would still be paranoidal. "And I was just talking to someone who's there. There was a huge fight over handcuffing her to the bed. Doctors were opposed to it - that's not how they do things anymore - but they relented eventually."
Li held up his project and looked at it carefully. He was making a hat with earflaps out of red and white yarn, switching colours in a way that gave it diagonal stripes. "How do they do things now?" he asked, sensing the prompt in the guard's words.
"If an inmate is violent or an escape risk, both hands are tied down with soft restraints. Otherwise, the assumption is that they're smart enough to not try to run away." The guard shrugged. "Seems to work so far."
"Then why cuff Zelenka?" Xu asked the logical question.
"Says so in the regulations. If an inmate is transported to an outside facility for treatment, they must be handcuffed to the bed or a guard at all hours and be under round-the-clock guard. No visitors allowed unless the directors acquiesce."
The fact that the regulations were only followed when outsiders were watching said a lot about the Supermax. Donna felt sorry for Zelenka. She had just had a heart attack after weeks of feeling unwell, she was outside the prison but couldn't as much as talk to her family who probably would be notified of her illness by the media, and on top of that, once she got a bit better, she wouldn't even be able to go to the bathroom without being attached to a guard. "Something's telling me the directors will only acquiesce if she starts dying," Donna said quietly to Theodosius.
"That much is obvious," he replied.
Behind them, the former Peacekeepers were wondering who was next in line for heart trouble. "Probably me," Fourrer said. "It runs in my family." Fourrer was in excellent shape, but then again, Zelenka's diet and exercise habits had also been very good, thanks to the administration. Some people were just unlucky.
Donna wondered what she'd die from. Her family history was mostly good, aside from a great-uncle who had died of cancer in middle age. Maybe one of her organs would finally give up after working for so long. Maybe one of her cells would mutate out of control. It still seemed very abstract to her. After all, both of her parents were still alive.
She crocheted quietly, unable to stop thinking about the question. The fact that she was asking Livia to release her papers posthumously just spurred on that line of thought. When would that happen? In thirty years? Forty? Maybe even fifty? What would the political climate be like then?
Behind her, someone stood up and walked towards the guard. "I am tired, I am leaving," Torres said in a joking voice.
"What do you need, Male Thirty-Four?" the guard asked, rolling her eyes.
"Bathroom."
The guard glanced around the gym, then at the door, where the other guard showed no signs of appearing. "Try not to run away," she said, and walked with him into the corridor.
As soon as they disappeared from view, Donna took out a paper bag from each pocket. "One per person!" she whispered. "And someone needs to save one for Torres."
"I'll do it," Andrews volunteered. Donna handed a samosa to Li and gave the bag to Theodosius, who passed it down the line. The other bag, she handed over Katz's head to Andrews, who sat in the corner. Andrews took two and passed the bag on to Koy. The bags were quickly returned to Donna, who'd use them as notepaper.
Nobody commented on how the samosas were, careful to not draw attention. By the time Torres and the guard came back, all crumbs had been carefully eaten, and the twenty-five of them were discussing which of Nardi's pronouncements was the most outrageous.
A/N: 'I am leaving' was made famous by Boris Yeltsin, the first president of Russia. Nardi's malapropisms are all translations of actual things Viktor Chernomyrdin said; 'we wanted the best but it turned out like always' has become proverbial in Russian-speaking countries.
The plywood telephone booth Octavius made is an actual thing we built in highschool for the school play. It did remain in the corridor for years, turning a payphone into a telephone booth. No idea where it got to after I graduated.
The PhD student is based on a real, though rather obscure, person. Revealing the name might give away a bit of the story, so if you're the sort of person who likes knowing a part of the ending, feel free to ask who it is.