Chapter 33: Rusher Fjord
Maximus Meridius's eyes swiveled nervously from the flatscreen TVs broadcasting continuous coverage of the 33rd Hunger Games to the double doors of the conference room, through which the first of his compatriots were already starting to trickle in. He silently willed the trickle to turn into a gush so that attendance could be taken all the faster, yet by the same token silently reminded himself to remain patient. Having just celebrated his 51st birthday the night of the Training Scores broadcast (how far this little pageant had come! He felt like a proud papa), the impatience that had dogged Maximus in his youth had mellowed with age, and thank Ravinstill and the State for that!
Ravinstill…. Thoughts of the President made Maximus's leg bounce underneath the conference table. He banged his knee on the underside at one point, and the sound echoed in the still nearly three-quarters-empty conference room. Halfway round from his head of the table, accompanied by Marina but no Mags, Poseidon Waverunner of the District 4 delegation gave a concerned começee-comceça wiggle of his hand. You OK?
Mouth in a grim line, Maximus nodded absently. The District 5 Victors announced their arrival loudly, roughhousing through the door. Maximus refrained an eye-roll. Antics like that he could abide from their young buck, Edison – not quite at his 30s – but Shrimp he expected more from. Then again, perhaps he shouldn't be so harsh: both of Five's tributes were dead on the arena's subarctic wilderness, and had been for days.
He silently conducted a head count as more Victors streamed in, keeping a careful count. He almost missed Autus Router slipping into the back entirely, but even after a decade, the very first Victor would be forgiven for not remembering that Six had a champion at all. The women from Ten, including the girl who had won just last year (a most splendid kill count, Maximus had to concede), graced the conference room threshold quietly and politely. Guernsey in tow, his little special needs friend was actually the loudest of the livestock district's trio and he was only making those content squeaking noises of his. Trusty Kermit was under his arm, more a bundle of cloth now than frog – it would be a sad day indeed when the plush toy had to finally be put out to pasture; Dell Fonio was apparently arranging for a replacement. As for Viscera Holstein and Lamb Chopp (Maximus held in the snort that threatened to bubble whenever he merely thought her name), the ladies sat down softly in chairs side by side, leaning in to share a light peck on the lips. Seated at Maximus's right hand, Gunner Trillium started.
"That's new…. A mentor and ex-mentee kissing….?"
Maximus just nodded silently. "Good for them." It wasn't the most surprising romantic relationship to come out of what he still termed 'The Family.' Dell and Acacia Ivy-Fonio were still only allowed to sleep in the same bed a mere handful of weeks out of the year; Maximus didn't understand, and didn't try to, how that marriage possibly worked – only that it did. The Victors from 7 and 9 had gotten a kid out of it, so they must be doing something right. And then there was Beauty Devereaux, who was still heavily involved with Agrippina Bukater, the whipper-snapper CEO of Arena Tours, Inc.
Speak of the rebels…. Here was Beauty now, one of the last to arrive. She looked jittery, pale even, as she found the seat at the head of the table directly opposite Maximus, nodding to her nearest neighbors awkwardly. A couple of the chairs still sat empty.
Maximus ran down the list again, in backwards order, sifting his colleagues into their district groups. Beauty and Amber were here, but the boys – Vulcan and Hero – were missing. No surprise there. Vulcan would never stop sulking over how he had to be there until he died, and Hero was probably mentoring their girl, still. He knew where Hippolyta was; he told her to stay behind and watch their boy, Creon, with Artemis shadowing to learn the trade. There was Xander, huddled closely with Autus – the only two districts left with just a single winner to their names. Well, if you forgot to count Twelve, which most people usually did. Studying an empty chair, Maximus tried to recall the image of her in his mind, but the specter of Lucy Gray Baird proved elusive. He had liked her, spoken to her once, immediately after her Victory; she had sung at her final interview with Lucky. There were the Ivy-Fonios, one successful apprentice each at their side – Garner and Leif, respectively. He wasn't sure what was keeping Rowan; the only male from 7 was officially out of the Game as well. Woof Rayon was exceedingly fortunate to not say the same, and Maximus could tell from watching the women of Eight anxiously glancing at the clock that they were eager to get back to Control Central and help him. For the boy's sake, Maximus hoped the Land of Textiles got another male Victor – it was Woof's dream, one hard to deny him, all competition aside.
Rowan Palmer finally swaggered in last of all, causing Mags to pipe up. "That's it? Of the people who can be here?"
Sighing, Maximus gave a tired nod of his head. Far at the other end of the table, Beauty was acting impatient.
"You better have a damn good reason for dragging us all down here, Maximus."
"Trust me, my dear – this is something you absolutely need to hear." He decided to put off the inevitable for just a moment more by making small talk. "How is Agrippina?"
"Pregnant, cranky, and watching too much of the news…" Ah. So at least the surrogacy had gone well. But you wouldn't know it from the Victor of the Twenty-First's expression; Beauty's face was now a ghastly white. "She's scared, Maximus. And the talking heads are giving us nothing of substance! What's been going on?"
Pressing his hands into the polished mahogany, Maximus pushed back his chair, rising to his feet.
"Ladies… gentlemen…. The President is dead."
Gasps went up all around; Acacia had both of her hands to her mouth, her husband rubbing her arm, though his own expression was unreadable. An undercurrent of chatter swelled like one of the squalls in Four, and Maximus held up a pre-emptive hand.
"Or he will be, likely within hours. Ravinstill's ill and fading fast – won't last the Games out, so they say. Unless things with this Final Four move quickly, we will have a new Commander-in-Chief to place the Victors' Crown on the winner's head."
A handful of seats down, Seeder Till snorted and folded her arms. "If the country lasts."
Maximus tssked at the champion from just three short years ago, silently imploring Wolfmark to discipline her, but the large black man didn't move. Indeed, his eyes seemed almost… hopeful.
"Oh, Miss Till, ye of little faith! Try to have heart!"
"Heart in what? Is there even a clear line of succession?!" Dell raised a good point, even if his tone belied the fact that he probably would enjoy nothing more than a power vacuum to burn it all down.
"The Constitution, the Treaty of Treason… is not clear," Maximus hedged, teeth clenched in a grimace. Off his left corner and another chair down from him, Savera began to laugh. Maximus almost wished she still had use of her eyes – it would never be sportsmanlike to sock a blind woman in the face while unable to give her fair warning.
Autus Router, the kid from Six, had his feet up on the tabletop, fingers linked behind his head. "So what do we do, Chief?"
"Stop the bleeding – hopefully before it even starts," Maximus laid down the law. He felt a couple of his brethren stiffen uncomfortably. A few others squirmed. For these, even the ones who were making a conscious effort not to look at anybody, Maximus nonetheless tried to stare them all down. "There is going to be a power grab, and let's only pray to the State that it will be brief. There will be a few contenders jockeying to be Ravinstill's successor. Udall, the Secretary of Information. Coriolanus Snow, the Head Gamemaker…"
"You crazy, old timer?! Snow doesn't wanna be top dog!" Maximus prayed to the gods for strength. Xander Chip might think he was the smartest in the room, but when it came down to it, Guernsey could easily beat him in a game of checkers.
"Whoever fights for it more will be President. No matter who it is, we will have to throw our support behind the new administration."
"Says who?!" Marina Calamari threw out, and Wolfmark Redpath grumbled assent.
"Says me!" Maximus's orbs were like burning coals. "I'm still the first! I'm still head of this Family!"
"Family…" Lamb, last year's winner, snorted. "You make us sound like the Mafia."
Maximus wagged a finger at her. "Young one, you will learn – truth is given to us all in our time. In our turn. Mark my words: we are the last line of defense between peace or disorder and civil war. Days from now the leader of this nation will either be Udall or Snow…"
"… Or us," Indigo breathed. Everyone looked at her quizzically, even as she brightened. Almost beamed. "Meridius, what if we led?"
Maximus sneered. "What are you babbling about, woman….?"
"Meridius, you just said so yourself: we're what's keeping this nation from coming apart at the seams. That means we have power– power we can wield."
Maximus was now physically leaning away from her, leery. He didn't trust the Quell Victor as far as he could throw her, and it wasn't very far. Probably not even the length of this conference room. She was an Eight, after all.
"Well, hooray, then!" Gunner trolled sarcastically. "32…. Soon-to-be 33 Presidents! Why stop at just one? The former States only got up to 47, after all; another run of Games, and we'll catch up in no time!"
"Not Presidents," Indigo was running away with her own thread (heh, heh. Maximus basked a little in his own wit). "A tribunal body. Council members."
Maximus scoffed out a breath. "We've already got a Senate, and the Courts! A Council would just get clunky – and not know when to stop expanding with new Victors coming in every year."
"Who says there have to be more Victors?" Indigo's eyes gleamed. "Who says there have to be more Games?"
The drop of a pin could be heard in the conference room now, and Maximus was deeply disturbed by the more than a few faces he saw actively listening with agreement. Some of the more skittish ones seemed to also be leaning in that direction.
"I SAY!" he finally bellowed, causing nearly all of the others to jump.
"Oh, so you think you should be President?" Dell suddenly leaped to his feet.
Maximus started a little at the vehemence from a man he considered a good friend. "No! That's not what I'm saying at all!"
"What, then? A god? A deity? Because no matter what, it always seems to be that you know better! Father knows best! Maximus, Maximus ALMIGHTY!" Dell slammed an open palm down on the table, not easing even when his wife touched his arm.
"Dell, baby…." She crooned in a whisper. "Sit down…"
Maximus gawped. "You're all talking like fools!" he cried. "We can't launch a coup! We're not the goddamn military!"
"Maybe not, but we're damn close," Viscera purred grimly.
"We're damn close! We're damn close!" Guernsey started up in a call-and-response. A few chuckles eased the tension, but not enough. Maximus threw up his hands.
"Viscera, Dell…. Can one of you shut him up or shut him down?! Please?"
"Shut up and down! Shut up and down!" Guernsey squawked. Lamb leaned into her mentor and tried to redirect by distracting him with a half-dead Kermit.
Wolfmark was stroking the stubble along his beard contemplatively. "Udall's spoken out in support of abolishing the Games," he mused. "Maybe he's the horse to back."
"And where would that lead?" Maximus rounded on him. Then he answered his own rhetorical question. "I'll tell you where – bye-bye go the pretty mansions. Bye-bye to good paying jobs…"
"Sure. A good-paying summer job," Xander cracked.
Maximus glowered. "Listen, smartass…" He stopped, walked it back. It wasn't worth it. "And you can kiss goodbye those Victors' pensions…. You know… our salaries?"
"Maxy, you know those are only worth anything when we get an extra cut on our mentoring commission for producing a winning tribute!" Poseidon groused.
"Maybe so, my friend, but just you wait: if the Games go, you're going to wish you had that pension, even without a winning cut! Those sesterces are gonna feel like sacks of drachma!" He lifted his eyes to take in Beauty Devereaux. "Beauty – your fiancé is pregnant. You need that pension, to provide for your child!" He rounded on the Ivy-Fonios, trying to appeal to their sense of family. "Dell, Acacia – you have a kid, nearly a man. Where will he be, if his parents' pensions go away?" He saved his ace for last. "And what will happen to Guernsey?"
There. He had him. Dell was looking across the table at his best friend and brother of nearly thirty years, the tears already welling up in his eyes. Flanking the simple-minded sweetheart from Ten, Viscera and Lamb looked at each other, linking fingers.
"We'd care for him. Together," Viscera nodded to her quasi-mentor. "You have our word."
"Yeah? For how long? His parents have passed, haven't they?" Maximus eyed the District 10 Victors sadly.
"That is true…. And…?" Lamb met his gaze evenly, expectantly.
The first Victor's smile was pained. "I think you know."
There was a long silence. Both Savera and Indigo looked somewhere between heartbroken and enraged at being outplayed. Directly across from them, Wolfmark looked close to constipated in his wavering, the rebel in him howling in protest.
"We… we have no choice," the dark-skinned man spoke at last. "Either we mount a quasi-insurrection and take the reigns of the country ourselves – of which we are not in agreement – or… we back Snow for the presidency."
"And what if he doesn't want the job?" Garner Sunnoria asked weakly.
"He will, girlie…." Maximus rumbled. "He will."
The Victors from 8, Indigo especially, were shouting at Wolfmark and Seeder. Maximus noticed how Peppa Cornac was the only one in their entire body who had yet to speak; he'd almost forgotten she was there.
Indigo grabbed for Savera's hand, and the pair from 8 moved towards the door in a huff, disgusted. "Well, if we're done here, there's a Top Two in the offing and a Victor whose ticket Woof really needs to punch!" Maximus glanced back at the flatscreens; Creon and the girl from 1 lay dead, while Woof's boy and Rusher Fjord – Mags' protégé – were now circling each other like wolves.
"So, that's it. We're all in agreement. The Games and the system continue… for the good of our pensions. Our livelihoods."
Peppa Cornac chuckled darkly as she rose from her seat, finally speaking for the first time. "Sure. Whatever. Because that's always what it boils down to in the end, right, Maximus? Money."
The conference of Victors rapidly emptied out, leaving their pioneer alone at the head of the table, his head tired and bowed.
He lifted his head to the screens just in time to see District 8 lose in a heartbreaker. He sighed. Poor Woof. And now he was out of a magazine-subscription's-worth of sesterces. Bollocks.