Chapter Five
As the seal appeared to mark the end of the broadcast, Dyson became uncomfortably aware that the eyes of every adult in the room were trained on him and not without reason. He knew he'd done badly in his private session, had deliberately underperformed in order to get a low score so that the Careers wouldn't see him as competition, but a three?! That was the lowest score out of all the tributes; even Astra, Tallulah and Husk, the three youngest kids in the Training Centre, had scored higher than him, Astra and Husk having pulled a six each, while Tallulah had received a five. Not to mention that Cormac from District 12, the district which normally fared worst in the Games, had been given an eight, the highest score of all the non-Careers. And Dyson was all too aware of what a low training score could mean: few, if any, sponsors and therefore little chance of receiving gifts in the arena. Gifts which could mean the difference between life and death.
Rik was the first to break the awkward silence. "And what exactly were you trying to pull?" he slurred, pausing to take another drink from his hip flask.
"You said I should aim low," Dyson replied, his tone becoming defensive as he recalled the advice Rik had given him. "You said, if I got too high a score, the Careers would target me."
"I didn't say get the lowest score out of everyone! Well, if you were trying to blow any chance of me getting you some decent sponsors, congratulations. Mission accomplished. I hope you remember that when you're about to die in the arena." As he spoke, Rik recalled the boys he had mentored in previous years, how he had done his best to prepare them for the Games, only to see them all killed one way or another. And every tribute he lost drove him deeper into drink, not that he was as bad as Haymitch Abernathy, the only surviving victor from District 12. In all the time Haymitch had been coming to the Capitol as a mentor, Rik had never once seen him sober. "Because that's what's going to happen . . ."
"Not necessarily," said Janus, cutting Rik off in mid-sentence. "There's still the interviews and, if he can impress there, people might sponsor him even with his three. We just need to come up with the right angle."
The interviews, which took place the night before the Games, were the last chance the tributes would have to appeal to potential sponsors; all sponsorship deals had to be sealed by the opening day. So, with the training period over, the next day saw Janus and Rik trying to make Dyson seem like he might be worth betting on despite having received the lowest score of all this year's tributes. Right now, Janus was instructing Dyson on how to walk when he went out to face Caesar Flickerman, the man who, along with Claudius Templesmith, had been a fixture of the Games for the past few decades.
"Head high and shoulders back!" Janus called out as Dyson walked across the living room. "Remember, everyone in Panem will be watching you and they'll want to see you walking like a human being, not a gorilla."
Dyson had heard Janus's last word before. The earliest Games he remembered had included a mutt which resembled an exceptionally ugly human that was covered in black fur. Only it wasn't a human, but an animal called a gorilla. Claudius, commentating for the viewers at home, had explained that ordinary gorillas were, despite their tremendous strength, peaceful herbivores and would only attack if they were provoked. But this was no ordinary gorilla; it had been genetically engineered in a Capitol laboratory, genetically engineered to prefer human meat. And it was programmed to pursue any humans it encountered relentlessly, not giving up the chase until it had achieved a kill. Dyson, just six years old at the time, had watched as it hunted down that year's Career pack, seen it kill and devour the boy from District 1 and the girls from 2 and 4. He'd had nightmares in which he was pursued by the gorilla mutt for weeks afterwards and, even now, he couldn't hear the word gorilla without recalling those horrific scenes.
All the same, he knew he had to ignore Janus's tactless remarks and focus on the task at hand, namely practising for tomorrow's interview. It was vital, especially in light of his low training score, that he presented himself in a way which would appeal to potential sponsors. Wealthy Capitol citizens who donated part of their vast fortunes to enable the mentors to purchase food and various other supplies to be sent to the tributes in the arena. And, when it came to sponsoring tributes, they were hardly likely to back a boy who, according to his own district escort, walked like a gorilla.
Getting the walk right was only part of Dyson's session with Janus. There was body language as well. Shaking hands, sitting without slouching, pretending you were enjoying yourself in the Capitol even if what you wanted to do more than anything was go home. All these things were, Janus explained, designed to show that the people who lived in the districts were not barbarians, that they could be just as civilised as those who lived in the Capitol with the right training. If you could call people who not only sent kids to their deaths every year but also considered it a form of "entertainment" civilised, which Dyson didn't. But, knowing the Capitol would punish such dangerous views, he kept them to himself; he might be in a situation where he was about face almost certain death, but he still had Rodd, Zeta and Tia to consider. And then there were his two best friends, Trent and Paula. The last thing he wanted was for them to suffer because he had said something the Capitol didn't like.
Presently, Janus declared the session over and he and Dyson joined the rest of the District 5 entourage in the dining room for lunch. A selection of cold cooked meats, accompanied by a seasonal salad and followed by individual cakes dripping with honey. Afterwards Astra, who had spent the morning with Piper going over the content of her interview, accompanied Janus into the living room to work on her presentation, while Piper headed for her room, her job of preparing her tribute for her interview done. As soon as she had gone, Rik and Dyson turned to each other.
"OK," said Rik, slurring his words because he had been drinking from his hip flask all through lunch, "let's decide what angle we're going to try . . ."
Dressed in a strapless red dress and matching high-heeled shoes, Dazzle led the tributes out onto the stage which had been set up in front of the Training Centre in preparation for tonight's interviews. The attention of the entire nation of Panem was focused on her and the twenty-three kids walking behind her; not only was there a sizeable live audience which consisted of wealthy Capitol citizens, as well as all the escorts, stylists and mentors, not to mention the Gamemakers, every single television set in the country was tuned in. She smiled for the benefit of the audience, then blew a kiss in their direction, before she and the other tributes took their places in the semi-circle in which they would sit while waiting for their turn to be interviewed.
Almost as soon as the tributes were seated, Caesar Flickerman bounded onto the stage, dressed in his usual midnight blue suit dotted with tiny electric light bulbs, his hair dyed mint green, his eyelids and lips painted to match. "Happy Hunger Games!" he shouted, gesturing flamboyantly towards the audience.
"And may the odds be ever in your favour!" they chorused. Even the mentors joined in, though Dyson, whose electric blue suit had silvery threads woven into the material, could tell that most of them would rather not. Especially those who had yet to mentor a tribute to victory. What must it be like to have to prepare a kid (or two kids in Haymitch Abernathy's case) for the Games, only to have to watch them die? And what if one of those kids was your own son or daughter? It had been known to happen. And Cecelia, a mentor from District 8, was pregnant with her first child. What must she be thinking right now?
Caesar spent a few minutes warming up the audience with jokes and funny anecdotes, most of which poked fun at the foibles of the Capitol and its odd fashions. Then he turned his attention to the main event of the evening. "But enough of that! It's time to welcome the first of this year's tributes! Ladies and gentlemen, I give you, from District 1 . . . Dazzle Bernstein!"
Dazzle got up from her seat and walked across the stage to where Caesar stood, flashing another smile at the audience, a smile which radiated self-confidence. There could be little doubt that she believed she could win these Games and would be back on this stage in around a month's time to receive the victor's crown. As nine District 1 tributes, excluding the two who'd won before the Games became the spectacle they were today, had already done. For now, though, she and Caesar sat down opposite each other and she prepared to spend the next three minutes turning on the charm for the benefit of potential sponsors. Of course, being a Career tribute and having the classically beautiful looks typical of her district, she already had several advantages in this area.
"So, Dazzle," Caesar began, "I have to say you look absolutely stunning in that dress!"
"Yes, I do, don't I?" Dazzle shifted in her seat so that the audience could get a better look at her. "But don't let that fool you. I've been training for these Games since I was five years old and I think I could take on most of the kids here easily. Just because I'm a District 1 girl doesn't mean I'm some airheaded bimbo who doesn't know one end of a weapon from the other."
"It certainly doesn't," agreed Caesar, recalling other female tributes from the luxury district he'd interviewed over the years. Often they sought to use their beauty to their advantage when it came to attracting sponsors, only to reveal themselves to be ruthless fighters once they were in the arena. And he had a feeling Dazzle would be no exception; if he'd been allowed to bet on the Games, which as a member of the presenting team he wasn't, he would have placed all his money on her making it at least as far as the final eight, possibly even further. "And what will your approach to the Games be?" was his next question.
"Oh, I'll be playing to win. So don't be surprised if you see me back here a few weeks from now." Dazzle gave another self-confident smile, then crossed her legs so that the heel of her shoe was pointed towards her fellow tributes. The kids she was going to kill. She was well aware that this might include Garnet, a boy she had known all her life, but, from the moment they both became tributes, she had not allowed herself to think of him as anything more than an ally. Useful while there were other tributes to eliminate, but ultimately disposable. It was just a matter of disposing of him before he did the same to her.
"I look forward to it," said Caesar. He and Dazzle continued to chat for a little longer, until the buzzer sounded to mark the end of the interview.
As Dazzle returned to her seat, Garnet got up from his seat and made his way over to Caesar. His interview outfit consisted of a smart white shirt, black trousers and shoes, plus a bow tie and vest in the same shade of red as the gemstone after which he was named. He took his seat opposite Caesar and, as his interview began, it quickly became apparent that his angle was one which had been adopted by male tributes from District 1 before. The ladies' man who volunteered for the Games for the sole purpose of impressing girls. From what he was saying, half the girls in 1 were after him, or was that just part of some plan he and his mentor had come up with? Either way, most of the women in the audience were already seriously considering betting on him. And, if he emerged triumphant . . .
From his seat nearly halfway along the semi-circle of tributes, Dyson watched as those in front of him were called forward one by one, went up to Caesar and spent three minutes chatting to him before the buzzer sounded and they had to make way for the next tribute. Three minutes in which they had to sell themselves to potential sponsors using whatever angles their mentors had come up with. Both Bellona, dressed in a black halter-neck dress, and Lupus, whose suit was dark grey, tried to make themselves as intimidating as possible; at one point, the latter loudly declared himself "the leader of the pack", then gave an imitation of a wolf's howl which was so realistic that several of those watching thought it was real. Synthia, who wore a mauve dress with a flared skirt, was a keen chess-player back in District 3, having inherited her grandfather's old set. When asked how this would help her in the arena, she replied that it had taught her to think tactically. Her district partner, Digit, wearing a dark purple suit, hardly said a word in the three minutes he sat opposite Caesar. Stage fright? Or was he deliberately not saying anything so that the other tributes wouldn't see him as a potential threat? Given how smart District 3 tributes could be, it was hard to be sure one way or the other.
Salacia, whose dress was covered in silver sequins to imitate fish scales, was called forward. She talked at length about how beautiful the ocean could be, beautiful but also unpredictable and dangerous; at the beginning of the year, a fishing boat whose crew included her father had been lost in an unexpected storm at sea along with all hands on board. "And how do you feel knowing your mother could lose a daughter on top of losing a husband?" Caesar asked once Salacia was through telling this tragic story.
"Oh, I promised I wouldn't let that happen," Salacia replied. "I said I'd do my best to win, not only for myself but for Dad as well. And I like to think he's watching over me." She looked like she was about to say more, but at that moment the buzzer sounded, sending her back to her seat as Fathom, looking handsome in a white shirt, grey trousers and aquamarine jacket, walked up to Caesar for his interview. The District 4 boy spent most of his three minutes discussing fishing techniques and how easy it was to adapt them to hunting tributes. Hunting and killing them. Listening to him talk, Dyson got the impression that he had chosen to forget that his fellow tributes were human beings, which could make him dangerous. Even to his fellow Careers. Even to his own district partner. But especially to the other eighteen tributes.
"Well, good luck for tomorrow," said Caesar as the buzzer signalled the end of Fathom's interview. "And now," he added once Fathom had vacated the seat opposite him, "let's hear it for a young lady who's come all the way from District 5 to be here tonight - Astra Maddox!"
Dyson watched as his district partner, dressed in a sky blue dress with a shimmering organza overskirt, her strawberry blonde hair secured with silver pins shaped like stars, walked across the stage towards Caesar. Just three minutes now remained before it would be his turn to be interviewed in front of the entire nation on what could be the last night of his life. The thought made him even more nervous than he was already and he looked down at his hands, mentally telling himself to relax. He had to get through this, had to make a good impression, especially with his low training score. And that meant he could not let anyone know how hard his heart was pounding in his chest.
Centre stage, Astra took her seat opposite Caesar and the ninth interview of the evening began. "So, Astra, what would you say was the most memorable thing about your time in the Capitol?" was the first question Caesar put to her.
Astra paused, considering, then answered in a clear voice. "Having a room all to myself that's bigger than my family's apartment. Oh, and the gadgets! I like the way you can get whatever you want just by pressing a button or talking into a microphone. We don't have anything like that back home, even though we're one of the richer districts."
"Well, maybe you should think about moving here full time!" joked Caesar, knowing full well that no district citizen, not even a victor, would be allowed to move to the Capitol. And, even if they could, it was unlikely that Astra would come out of the arena alive; no tribute under the age of fourteen had ever won the Games, the one who had come closest being a twelve-year-old District 3 girl called Pixel who had placed third in the Fourteenth Games. "Anyway," Caesar said to change the subject, "why don't you tell us a little about yourself? Any brothers or sisters?"
"One of each, both younger," Astra replied in the same clear voice.
"And what are their names?"
"Naomi and Chase." In answer to further questions, Astra described how she and eleven-year-old Naomi had been close from the time they were babies and had always done everything together - until now. "But I promised I'd try to get back to her and then we could do all that again," she added, recalling the moment her parents had brought their other two children to say goodbye after the reaping. At five years old, Chase was only just beginning to understand what being sent to the Hunger Games meant, but Naomi, nearly of reaping age herself, was all too aware that she would probably never see Astra again. The two sisters had sat with their arms around other throughout the time the Maddox family were in the Justice Building, only to be forced apart when a Peacekeeper came and told Astra's parents and siblings their time was up. It was while her family were being escorted out that Astra had made the promise she had just mentioned.
"And do you think you'll be able to keep that promise?"
"I hope I can. I've learned a lot about survival since I came here. Camouflage, edible plants, that sort of stuff." Not that this made much difference to Astra's chances; she was still a thirteen-year-old girl from District 5 and, if she were to win, she would have to face the Careers sooner or later. The Careers. Dazzle, Garnet, Bellona, Lupus, Salacia and Fathom. The strongest and most highly trained of all the tributes. Each of them had been training for the Games from the moment they could handle weapons, whereas she had only learned how to wield a knife in combat a few days ago.
"Well, you'll certainly make history if you do win," said Caesar. "You'll be our youngest ever victor, even younger than that District 4 boy who won a few years back. What was his name again?" he asked, even though everyone present knew the answer.
"Finnick Odair!" someone shouted from the audience. The cameras briefly turned away from the stage and towards the twenty-three mentors, focusing on a handsome youth of seventeen. Finnick Odair, the victor of the Sixty-fifth Games, who had barely turned fourteen when he claimed the crown. This, together with his exceptional good looks, had made him a big hit in the Capitol and, from the moment he was old enough to take part in such activities, people had been falling over themselves to get to know him . . . intimately. Not that any of his "lovers", for want of a better term, maintained his favour for long.
The cameras returned their gaze to Caesar and Astra, who carried on chatting until the sound of the buzzer sent Astra back to her seat. "Astra Maddox, everyone!" Caesar declared as she made her way across the stage towards the tributes. "And that means it's time to hear from District 5's boy tribute. So let's give a big Capitol welcome to Dyson Kinsella!"
Dyson took a few deep breaths, telling himself to keep calm, that he could get through the next three minutes. Then he got up from his seat and, remembering what Janus had said about not walking like a gorilla, made his way to the seat which awaited him.
