Epiphany

by SFCBruce

Sequel to Absolution. Katniss Everdeen, the reluctant Mockingjay and the living face of the Rebellion, and Peeta Mellark discover the true horrors of war, and eventually find themselves joined by a most unlikely ally in their fight against the Capitol. A/U, mature themes, occasional strong language, and continuing Everlark.

15. Chapter 15

PART I

Spartacus Knight, newly promoted Chief of Security for President Coriolanus Snow, stared at the computer screen on his desk, his calm, impassive outward appearance masking his inner churning turmoil. He had been watching the video taken by the security camera from the Presidential Fleet sedan that had been "appropriated" by Casca Bishop. Bishop had kidnapped the President's granddaughter, Andromeda Snow, along with her best friend, Sperantia Blackstone – who happened to be the daughter of Panem's Minister of Security – on the night that he had callously murdered two Peacekeepers while aiding the condemned traitor and Rebel Victor, Peeta Mellark, to escape…along with other potential and actual Rebel Victors that had also been incarcerated.

Spartacus owed thanks for his recent promotion to Casca, who, as the former Chief of Security to President Snow, had left his position vacant when he had decided to turn traitor and betray Panem. The position was prestigious, and carried with it a great deal of authority. And, as Spartacus had discovered, a great deal of responsibility as well.

The video that he had just finished watching had been enclosed in the sedan's "black box" – a bright yellow electronics module, secured with tamper-proof seals and an electronic lock. Spartacus had idly wondered why it was called a "black box" when it was so obviously yellow. Had he cared to research the term he would have found that it had its origins before the Catastrophes, when similar recording devices were routinely installed on commercial aircraft. But Spartacus was an unimaginative man who had no time for trivia.

He was also now a frightened man. A very frightened man.

The technician had brought the black box directly to Spartacus as he had been ordered. He hadn't tried to open it – if he had, the seals would have been very obviously broken, and he lacked the code necessary to open the lock – and had rushed it to Spartacus as soon as he had removed it from the car. Spartacus, of course, had the necessary codes to open the box and remove the flash drive that contained the audio and visual recordings that he needed to examine. Once he uploaded the files from the drive onto his computer, he would erase the drive and replace it in the black box before returning everything to the technicians.

However, as Spartacus watched the videos, he found himself wishing, more than once, that he had somehow managed to "accidentally" delete the files on the drive before he had seen their contents. For the video contained no evidence of Casca kidnapping young Andromeda Snow by force, or by any other means. It did, however, contain clear evidence that Andromeda was a willing and active participant in aiding the escape of Peeta Mellark and the other detained Victors.

The same could not be said for Sperantia Blackstone. In fact, she had confronted her friend Andromeda Snow about Andromeda's helping Casca Bishop commit high treason – and had been repeatedly stunned for her efforts. Spartacus sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "At least," he muttered, "there's no doubt that the Blackstone girl is truly a victim here."

Spartacus reached out and tapped a control on the computer, stopping the video just before Casca Bishop executed the second Peacekeeper. He then slowly and carefully deleted every file on the flash drive. Once the drive had been cleaned, Spartacus carefully plugged it back in to the black box and set the entire unit aside. He would return it to the maintenance technicians in the morning so that they could re-install the unit in the sedan.

Spartacus then moved each video file into a protected folder on his computer, and then instructed his computer to generate a unique password for that specific folder. He would have much rather deleted everything, but he knew that he would have to show President Snow the videos eventually. After all, it was Snow that ordered each vehicle in the Presidential Fleet be equipped with tamper-proof security video capability, and he would wish to view these videos personally.

But, before that could happen, Spartacus would have to find some way to let the President of Panem know that his beloved granddaughter was, without a shadow of a doubt, a Rebel - and a traitor.

PART II

"Hey."

I could feel my body stiffen at the sound of that single word. I needed sleep desperately – ever since my rescue and return to Thirteen I had been unable to sleep for more than a couple of hours at a time before being awakened by nightmares even worse than the ones brought on by the Games. But that wasn't what caused my reaction to that single word, because I had been only dozing fitfully when I heard it. No, what caused the reaction was the fact that I recognized the voice's owner, and the last thing I wanted – or needed – right now was a visit like the one that was about to take place.

Maybe if I pretend that I'm asleep – "Open your eyes, Townie," the voice commanded. "I know you ain't asleep."

Shit. I forced my eyes open. Gamma Churchill's familiar features blurred into view. I blinked several times and squinted, focusing on my long-deceased District partner's face. As usual, she was perched on the end of my bed, examining with unfeigned interest the catheter tube that ran down to a transparent plastic bag under the bed. The bag was about half-full of yellowish fluid. As I watched, she followed the tube from the bag, back under the thin blanket that covered me. Gamma lifted my blanket and her eyes widened in astonishment at the sight that greeted her.

"Holy shit, Townie," she murmured as she let the blanket drop. "That has got to hurt."

"I don't really notice it, and I was out when they put it in," I replied, my voice rusty from sleep. I looked around the room. Surprisingly, we were alone.

"Where's Gale?" I asked.

Gamma shrugged. "He didn't want to come. Said something about not liking being cooped up in a rabbit warren."

"Why are you here, Gamma?" I shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position. I had been hospitalized for the last three days. What had begun as an overnight stay for examination and observation had ballooned into a full-blown medical nightmare – fueled, of course, by the collapse that I had suffered the night of my return. The doctors had termed it a "stress induced event, brought on by continuous and extreme physical, mental, and emotional abuse, in addition to complete exhaustion."

It didn't matter what they called it. All I knew was, I blacked out, and when I awoke, I was in a hospital bed, hooked up to beeping machinery, with a plastic tube shoved up my penis.

After what I had gone through, it was no wonder that I suffered nightmares every time I closed my eyes. And the "exhaustion" part explained my catheter nicely, as I was so weak that I needed help just to get out of bed. A bedpan would have been much less painful, but would have required more work on the part of the medical technicians – and they had enough to do with caring for the increasing numbers of wounded.

"Just deliverin' a message, as usual," she replied. "It goes like this. 'Save hope. Protect hope. Hope is the key.'"

"I don't understand," I said wearily. "We all have hope. Hope that this war is over soon. Hope for a better life for everyone in Panem. Why do I need to 'protect' hope?"

"You'll figure it out, Townie," Gamma said with a chuckle. She pressed one hand over my eyes. "Go back to sleep now. We'll talk later."

"Soldier Mellark?" I opened my eyes again. Gamma's hand was no longer covering my eyes. In fact, Gamma was no longer in the room. The duty nurse stood over my bed, one hand gripping my shoulder and gently shaking me.

"I'm sorry I had to wake you," the nurse said apologetically. "I know how hard it's been for you to sleep. But Dr. Picardo has ordered your catheter removed. He wants you to spend more time up and about." The nurse smiled slightly. "He said that you'll never regain your strength 'laying around on your arse.'"

"Does this mean I'm being discharged?" I asked.

"Dr. Picardo will make that decision tomorrow," the nurse replied. "But it looks like you won't be here much longer." The nurse pulled the blanket back from my mid-section and put on a pair of tight, transparent gloves, and then added, "All right. This will be a little uncomfortable, I'm afraid."

Why am I not surprised? I said to myself as the nurse began working on removing the catheter.

---

"We're going to change things up a bit."

Plutarch Heavensbee was doing what he did best – orchestrating propaganda. He wasted no time, once he had heard that I had been released from the hospital. And that's how I found myself in a meeting within two hours of my discharge.

I was seated next to Beetee Latier – still too weak to stand or walk for very long, I was confined to a wheelchair like his – while Plutarch ran the meeting. I was surprised to note that Coin was absent as she had been present at every other "propo" conference. In fact, aside from Plutarch, Beetee, and myself, the only others present were Plutarch's assistant, Fulvia Cardew, Haymitch Abernathy, and Messalla.

I wished they would hurry up. I was anxious to spend a little private time with Katniss.

"The decision has been made," Plutarch continued, "to not send you back out in the field anymore, Peeta."

"How considerate," Beetee murmured. "Especially since you are about as mobile as I am."

Plutarch clearly overheard Beetee but made no reply. "Katniss will continue to shoot propos in the field. We're looking at the possibility of having her joined in the different districts by fellow Rebel Victors from those districts. For example, Johanna accompanies her to Seven, Finnick to Four, Enobaria to Two, and either Cashmere or Gloss – perhaps both – to One. Districts One and Two are especially juicy propaganda targets, especially if their Victors are seen standing shoulder to shoulder with the Mockingjay."

"So, the Career Victors have agreed to cooperate?" I asked.

"Well, like I said, it's an option that we're examining," Plutarch replied evasively.

"What Plutarch means, is that the Careers have pretty much told both him and Coin to go fuck themselves," Haymitch added with a smirk, causing Beetee to snicker.

"Vulgarity is really not necessary, Haymitch," Fulvia said archly.

"I've been out of the loop," I said. "And no one really told me anything while I was in the hospital. But the last I remember from the hangar was everyone being led away under armed guard. Has that changed?"

"There is an assimilation process –" Plutarch began.

"No, it hasn't," Haymitch interrupted flatly. "They're all closely monitored, they all wear ankle trackers, and, while I'm on the subject, I sincerely doubt that you'll get Johanna to cooperate either."

"What about the girls?" I asked. "Andromeda and Sperantia?"

"Andromeda Snow is being treated well," Plutarch replied. "She's under guard at all times, of course, but for her own safety."

"And she's confined to her quarters except at meal time, and even then, she eats at the Command mess, with Coin and the other VIP's," Haymitch added.

"And Sperantia?" I asked pointedly.

Plutarch hesitated. "Level Thirty-Nine," Haymitch replied.

I frowned, trying to recall the significance, if any, of Level Thirty-Nine. "What's on Thirty-Nine?" I asked.

"Haymitch –" Plutarch warned.

"The hoosegow," Haymitch said, ignoring Plutarch. "The lockup. District Thirteen's very own prison."

"She's an avowed Loyalist," Fulvia said pointedly. "And a threat to security." She looked over at me. "Why concern yourself with her? She would have gladly seen you executed."

Haymitch snorted. "A pampered fourteen-year-old Capitol girl, a 'threat to security?' Stick her with the others and let her see what the Capitol has done to Panem, instead of tossing her in solitary confinement."

"Haymitch," Plutarch said patiently, "enough. You're on thin ice as it is. Subverting President Coin will only make it worse."

"I'm 'subverting?'" Haymitch looked at Plutarch in disgust. "Did it ever occur to you – or Coin – that the Career Victors would gladly cooperate if they were treated as allies? And don't even get me started on the bullshit that they're dumping on Johanna!"

Alarmed by his last statement, I twisted around and faced Haymitch. "What do you mean? What's happening with Johanna?"

"Shit," Plutarch muttered. "Go ahead and tell him. He'll find out anyway."

"Tell me what?" I demanded.

"She's bein' investigated, kid," Haymitch explained quietly, but with anger dripping off every syllable. "For the statements that she made during those broadcasts with Caesar Flickerman."

"Statements that she made," I snapped, "while either Annie Cresta or myself was being held off-camera, in her plain view, with the threat that if she stepped out of line we would pay for her disobedience with our pain!"

"Annie's given an affidavit," Plutarch added quickly. "Swearing to the fact the Johanna was coerced. She will be exonerated, I'm sure."

"I want to do the same," I said firmly. "Now."

"After we're done here," Plutarch said, just as firmly. "Look, Peeta, I know you're upset. But we're just about finished. I just wanted to run an idea by everyone first."

Right now, I could care less about Plutarch and his "idea." I glanced over at Haymitch, who nodded once in Plutarch's direction. His meaning was clear. Listen to him. I nodded back and then turned to face Plutarch. "Okay. Let's hear it."

Plutarch began to talk rapidly, as if he was afraid that I would change my mind. "It's simple, really. We're going to make you the Rebellion's version of Caesar Flickerman, and do a series of propos right here in Thirteen. We'll have you interview some of the expats from the Capitol – Josephus Picardo and Petronia Goldsmith come immediately to mind – as well as some of the other refugees, like that geneticist from Ten, what's his name?"

"Dalton," Fulvia said as she peered at the screen on her PADD.

"Dalton," Plutarch said, "as well as others. Primrose Everdeen. Madge Undersee. Those young soldiers from Twelve that were wounded in your rescue. And others, of course. We'll combine these with Katniss's action propos. It will make a powerful combination." He looked at me expectantly. "What do you think?"

I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. "I think," I replied slowly, "that it would be much more effective to include people like Casca Bishop, and Andromeda Snow, and my fellow rescued Victors. Not to mention if you were able to sway Sperantia Blackstone." I looked over at Messalla. "What do you think, Messalla? Next to Snow himself, the Minister of Security is the most powerful person in Panem. If his own Loyalist daughter turned against the Capitol –"

"Peeta's right," Messalla said firmly. "Andromeda Snow will make a powerful propaganda subject, but she's already a Rebel sympathizer. Turning the Blackstone girl would be a real victory for the Rebellion."

"Yes, it would." I looked at Plutarch. "Get her out of jail, and get the armed guards off the others. I think you'll find that they will cooperate…if you start treating them decently."

"I agree," Haymitch added.

"So, you'll do it?" Plutarch asked hopefully.

"Those are my conditions," I replied. "I need everyone that broke out available for interview. Even Lavinia."

"The Avox?" Fulvia said incredulously. "She can't speak!"

"She can sign," Messalla explained. "Pollux is an Avox too. He signs with his brother constantly. Castor can translate if necessary."

I looked at Plutarch expectantly. "Well?"

Plutarch sighed heavily. "All right. I'll talk to Coin." He looked around the table. "I think we're done here for now."

As we left, I couldn't help but smile when I overheard Plutarch say to Haymitch, "You were right, you son of a bitch. He's just as stubborn as Katniss."

Haymitch chuckled. "What do you expect? I trained them both, after all."

PART III

During my captivity, thinking of Katniss was the only way I could get through each day. No matter what they did to me, they couldn't erase my memories. I clung to those memories like a drowning man would cling to a life preserver. And, once I was rescued and reunited with Katniss, I was convinced that the worst was behind me. The momentum of the war had swung in favor of the Rebellion, and, although there was still a lot of fighting left to do, the overall mood was optimistic. It was only a matter of time before the Capitol fell. Yes, the worst was definitely behind me.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

It wasn't just the nightmares and insomnia. It wasn't just the almost paralyzing fear that washed over me whenever I smelled the odor of blood, roses, and the cloying antiseptic smell of the hospital. It wasn't the nagging, chronic pain that never quite went away. No, some problems were hidden, deep down inside, where even I didn't know they were there.

Until, of course, they rise to the surface.

Katniss had shown incredible restraint and patience during those first few days, when I was stuck in the hospital following my collapse. She visited constantly, pretty much ignoring her daily schedule, and would drop not-so-subtle hints as to what she had planned for me when I was finally discharged. I'm sure the hospital staff would have been scandalized if they knew a fraction of what Katniss would whisper in my ear. And now, finally, we were alone in quarters, with the door securely locked, and a stern admonition to virtually everyone to not disturb us unless the Capitol decided to attack District Thirteen.

Katniss was so solicitous of my still-weakened condition, and was unusually gentle. Her kisses were warm and searching without being demanding, and she insisted on undressing me as well as herself. I reveled in the taste of her lips and the feel of her warm body pressed so tightly against mine. She moaned softly when I caressed her body with my fingertips, and she reached for me eagerly to return my caresses with her own, her fingers closing around my manhood, squeezing and stroking me in a loving rhythm.

And nothing happened.

Katniss's gentle caresses gradually became more direct, her grip tightening as she continued to work on awakening my flaccid organ. She held me firmly and began to pump rhythmically, and finally slid down the bed to take me into her warm mouth – but nothing worked. I loved this girl with all my heart, and I was full of desire for her, but my desire didn't have any physical effect.

Gradually, desire was replaced by another emotion – frustration – until finally, with a sigh, I gently disengaged myself with a mumbled apology.

"Katniss. It's not…it's not working. I…I'm sorry."

Reluctantly, Katniss released me and slid back up the bed, her head nestled against my chest. "Don't worry about it, Peeta." Her fingers came up and caressed my cheek. "You just got out of the hospital, and they did have that…that thing shoved up inside you. Maybe that's why."

My catheter. Of course, that had to be it. "Yeah. That's it." I kissed the top of her head gently. "I have to see Picardo tomorrow. I'll mention it to him then." I leaned down and kissed her lips gently. "You know," I added softly, "there are things I can do for you." I kissed her more urgently. "There's nothing wrong with my lips."

To my surprise, Katniss kissed me on my cheek and replied, "It's okay, Peeta. You've had such a hard time. I'm okay, really. I love you."

"I love you," I whispered in return.

There was no more talk after that. But it was evident, from the quiet sighs that Katniss let out, as well as the rigid way she was holding her body, that I was not the only one in this bed that was frustrated.

---

The next morning - following a restless, night-terror filled, frustrating night - I found myself looking forward to my appointment with Dr. Josephus Picardo. I really wanted to get to the bottom of my inability to perform with Katniss. For, despite what Katniss had said repeatedly, I was worried about it. However, it became apparent that my sexual dysfunction would have to wait. I was summoned to a meeting with President Coin immediately following breakfast. And, to my surprise, Katniss was excluded.

Katniss said nothing as we listened to the messenger deliver Coin's summons. He seemed to be waiting for something, so I finally said, "Thank you. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

After he left, I turned towards Katniss. "Why just me and not you?"

She shrugged. "Who can tell with her? Besides, Finnick and I have to go see Beetee in Weapons Development." A concerned look crossed her face. "I'm sure this has something to do with your demands for hosting Plutarch's little 'propo show.'"

"Conditions, not 'demands,'" I corrected her, trying to keep my voice light.

"It's the same thing, Peeta," she replied seriously. "With me, they're always 'demands.' You're just nicer about it."

Our conversation was cut short by the arrival of Haymitch, Boggs, and Plutarch. "Are you done eating?" Haymitch asked.

I stared down at the remains of the unappetizing meal left on my tray. "I think so."

"Good!" Haymitch said cheerfully as he stepped behind me and grabbed the handles of my wheelchair. "We've been sent to escort you to your meeting with President Coin."

"I'll see you later, Peeta," Katniss murmured. She gave me a quick kiss and hurried out of the mess hall.

"What was that all about?" Haymitch asked as he watched Katniss disappear towards the elevators. "She sure as shit ain't actin' like the way she was before your rescue. She looked like she was kissin' her brother goodbye just then."

"It's nothing," I muttered as Haymitch began to push my chair. "Just drop it, okay?"

To my surprise, Haymitch did just that. But, I knew that his curiosity would get the better of him eventually. Shit. What an embarrassing thing to have to talk about to anyone, let alone Haymitch Abernathy. Still, I was grateful for the silence for the rest of the short trip to Command, even though I'm sure that they could all see my blush.

---

"First," Coin said, "let me say how glad I am that you seem to be recovering nicely from your recent ordeal, Soldier Mellark."

Physically, maybe, I said to myself. Mentally is another story. "Thank you, President Coin," I murmured.

"We're just happy to have you back." I had to hand it to her. She was really trying hard to sound sincere. "Now," she continued, in her typical business-like manner, "I understand that Mr. Heavensbee has spoken to you about your role in future propos?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"He told me that you have some specific – requests - regarding these broadcasts?" Coin asked, keeping her voice carefully neutral.

"No, ma'am," I replied, using the same careful tone. "Not 'requests.' I have 'conditions.'"

"Let's not mince words here, Soldier Mellark," Coin said firmly. "You presented Mr. Heavensbee with a list of demands. And it is those that I wish to discuss."

Here it comes, I said to myself. "I thought my conditions were reasonable," I said carefully.

"Our Intelligence staff has legitimate concerns regarding the prisoners that were liberated with you," Coin said. "Not to mention the Capitol citizens that accompanied you. I don't think I need to remind you that, of your fellow liberated Victors, four are from Career districts, and one – Johanna Mason - made several pro-Capitol television broadcasts. As for the others – all are current or former Capitol citizens, and one has been classified as a prisoner of war. These are not the kind of people that I want to give unfettered access to District Thirteen."

When I spoke again, I was very careful to keep my voice calm and controlled. "President Coin, all of my fellow prisoners were prisoners for a reason. Cashmere, Gloss, and Enobaria were locked up for failing to voice their immediate support to Snow, the Capitol, and the war. They weren't thrown in prison for what they said. They were imprisoned for what they didn't say. Casca – well, I wouldn't be alive right now if it weren't for him." I looked pointedly at Plutarch Heavensbee. "Plutarch was another high-placed Capitolite that turned Rebel, and he's been welcomed with open arms here. Casca must wear an ankle tracker and is escorted everywhere he goes – yet the risks he took were considerable. In fact, he was one of Plutarch's operatives. Isn't that right, Plutarch?"

Plutarch looked embarrassed. "There are other factors at work here, Peeta," he said. "You don't understand that the need for security at the highest levels is critical at this point in the Rebellion."

"I do understand," I replied. "I understand that Casca trusted you. And what about the others? Johanna Mason was captured, as I was, while fighting the Peacekeepers – and those broadcasts that she did were made under duress. And Annie Cresta, a threat? She can barely function! Lavinia is an Avox who had her tongue removed by the Capitol as punishment for some 'terrible' crime. As far as Andromeda Snow is concerned –"

"Andromeda Snow is being treated quite well," Coin interrupted stiffly. "Proportionate to her position as President Snow's only granddaughter."

"She sacrificed everything," I continued. "She betrayed her own grandfather. And she's not allowed out of her quarters without an escort."

"For her own protection," Coin pointed out.

This was going nowhere. I had to try a different approach. Turning towards Boggs, I said, "Boggs, I'm a little behind on the status of the Rebellion." I glanced over at Coin. "Madam President, can I go off-topic for a moment?"

Coin, Plutarch, and Boggs all looked puzzled, while Haymitch was regarding me with a knowing smirk. I think he knew where I was going with my question, but he said nothing. For a moment, it seemed that Coin was going to deny my request, but, in the end, she waved her hand casually at Boggs and nodded.

"Go ahead and bring Soldier Mellark up-to-date," she said, and added, "but be brief."

Boggs inclined his head, once, and turned to face me. "Fighting has slowed down considerably with the onset of winter, but we're holding onto the districts that we've taken. We'll resume full offensive operations in spring. It should be just a matter of time until the Capitol is defeated."

"They're really feeling the effects of short rations as well," Plutarch added. "By spring there won't be any fight left in them."

"Spring is months away," I pointed out. "And don't forget that Districts One and Two are still supporting the Capitol. Boggs said 'just a matter of time.' Well, a lot of people can die between now and then, and Beetee was telling me just the other day that Panem can't afford to take too many more casualties – that, once the population falls below a certain level, there may not be enough people left to re-populate the country." I looked directly at Coin. "If we can get Cashmere, Gloss, and Enobaria to show their districts just how futile further resistance is, we can shorten this war considerably. And, imagine what effect it would have on the Capitol if Andromeda Snow and Sperantia Blackstone did the same."

"Sperantia Blackstone is a Loyalist," Coin snapped. "She is a prisoner of war. Using her for any sort of pro-Rebellion propaganda is ill-advised and attempts to do so would probably be futile."

Inwardly, I grinned. Coin was focused on her opposition to Sperantia Blackstone's potential participation in shortening the war. What she didn't say was that we couldn't use the others. She may not have given her express permission, but she didn't say no. And that was something that I could build on. Now I had to work on stroking Coin's ego a bit.

"I understand that completely, ma'am," I replied sincerely. "But the others…if you could allow us –" I waved a hand at Haymitch, Plutarch, and Boggs "- to speak to them, as allies, then I think you would be very pleased with the propos that we produce."

Still, Coin hesitated. "Johanna Mason's collaboration with the Capitol is still a matter of record, and must be addressed."

"I signed an affidavit yesterday," I explained, "attesting to the fact that she was coerced into making those appearances with Caesar Flickerman by Snow threatening Annie or I with torture."

Coin looked thoughtful. "Boggs, your opinion?"

"President Coin," Boggs said carefully, "when we contacted the escapees, Johanna Mason and Casca Bishop were wearing the uniforms of dead Peacekeepers. Chances are, if they had been re-captured, they both would have been summarily executed for impersonating Peacekeepers. I understand that there is strong evidence against her that must be addressed. But there's just as much evidence to indicate that she was, in fact, coerced by President Snow, and that her loyalties have always been with the Rebellion."

"Damn straight," Haymitch growled. "She's been ass-deep in the Rebellion since her own Victory. Can't see her turnin' traitor."

Coin looked at Plutarch. "Mr. Heavensbee?"

"Without her and Blight, there would have been no Rebel faction in District Seven, Madam President," Plutarch pointed out.

Coin stroked her chin and stared off into space as she mulled over what we had just said. Finally, she looked at each of us in turn and said, "Very well. Except for Sperantia Blackstone, the others are on parole. They will continue to wear ankle trackers until further notice. They no longer require an escort. Once they agree to their parole, I will make a district-wide announcement to this effect." She paused for a moment and fixed her gaze on me. "If they violate the terms of their parole, they will revert to the status of 'detainee.' Do you understand, Soldier Mellark?"

I nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Additionally, insofar as Andromeda Snow is concerned, I wish to be personally appraised as to the status of your talks with her regarding her use as a propaganda tool." Coin looked around the table and began to stand up. "I think that's all for now."

"One more thing, Madam President," Plutarch said hesitantly. "Regarding the matter of the Blackstone girl –"

"That subject, Mr. Heavensbee, is closed," Coin said coldly.

"Umm…yes," Plutarch continued. "And I fully support your reasoning. But, consider this – one of every four citizens of Panem lives in the Capitol. The clear majority of these citizens are Loyalists, or sympathetic to the Loyalist cause. And the Capitol is the only place in Panem that possesses the bureaucratic machinery necessary to govern this nation."

"Your point, Mr. Heavensbee?" Coin asked impatiently.

"My point, President Coin," Plutarch continued, "is that, sooner or later, we will be forced to deal with a large population that does not share our beliefs, our values, or our goal of a Panem governed by the principles of fairness to all citizens. And we can't very well lock up the entire population of the Capitol. We will need them to continue to run the day-to-day machinations of government – the myriad minutiae that comes with running a nation. And we won't be able to do that unless we know how to win these people over."

Coin sighed heavily. "And I suppose you have a plan that involves the Blackstone girl?"

Plutarch nodded. "I've been speaking with Dr. Aurelius. Sperantia Blackstone is an excellent subject for what we intend to do. She is a staunch Loyalist. If we can find how to reach her – to convert her to our cause – we can later apply similar techniques to the rest of the Capitol."

Coin was silent for a long moment as she examined each of us in turn. Finally, she said, "I can't remember the last time I was played so masterfully." She shook her head in disbelief. "And so logically. All right." She addressed Plutarch specifically. "Sperantia Blackstone is still a prisoner…however, you may grant her some limited movement, under constant supervision, to test your 'conversion' theories out. Mr. Heavensbee, I warn you – if she steps out of line, there will be no second chance. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly, Madam President."

"All right, then," Coin said. "Let's go back to work on 'winning their hearts and minds.'"

After we had left, I twisted around in my chair and asked Haymitch, "What did she mean by that? 'Winning their hearts and minds?'"

Haymitch chuckled. "It means, kid, that she actually listens to us every now and then."

"It's an old phrase that pre-dates the Catastrophes," Plutarch explained. "It basically means winning over an enemy with kindness rather than force."

"And if that fails," Haymitch continued, "don't forget the rest of it. 'Grab 'em by the balls, and their hearts and minds will surely follow.'"

And, as Haymitch pushed my chair towards the hospital, I found my elation at having won a small victory tempered by the fact that, someday, we would have to win over a lot more people.

PART IV

Dr. Aurelius looked at me sympathetically for a moment before he spoke. "Peeta, I know this has been difficult for you to talk about."

I sighed heavily and rubbed one hand over my face. "Yeah. It has."

Aurelius leaned back in his chair and looked at me thoughtfully. "Well, at any rate, I'm glad that Dr. Picardo referred you to me." He smiled slightly. "Joe is a fine physician, but he is not a psychiatrist."

"Can you fix what's wrong with me, Doctor?" I asked, a plaintive note creeping into my voice.

I was, quite frankly, shocked by his reply. "No."

"But I thought –"

"I can't help you," Aurelius continued, "because there's nothing really wrong with you."

"I can't get it up, Doctor," I said tightly. "I think that qualifies as 'something wrong with me.'"

"Let me rephrase that," Aurelius said hastily. "There's nothing physically wrong with you."

"No?" I asked bitterly. "I guess I don't need this chair anymore, then!"

"Peeta," Aurelius said gently. "I'm not minimizing what you've gone through. But, from all accounts, you're recovering well. You won't need that chair for much longer. However, your physical injuries should have no impact on your sexuality."

"What am I supposed to do, then?" I could feel my frustration build with each passing second.

"It's been a while since we've talked, hasn't it?" Aurelius asked.

I looked down at the surface of the desk. In fact, I've only really spoken to him once before, even though I had promised to see him regularly. "Yeah," I replied softly. "It has."

Aurelius chuckled again. "Relax, Peeta. I know how busy you all are. But, if you had been coming to see me, I would have started out our first session by telling you that a psychiatrist never really cures anyone."

"No?" I was confused now. "So, what do they do?"

"We listen," Aurelius replied. "And we give advice. It's up to the patient to take it. We guide our patients towards their cure. But it's the patient that ultimately cures him - or her – self."

"But I know there's drugs," I persisted. "At least," I added, "I've heard there are drugs."

Aurelius nodded. "Oh, there are. Anti-depressants, stimulants, sleep aids – and I prescribe them only as a last resort. Take your nightmares, for example. If I gave you a sleep aid, you may find it harder to awaken from a nightmare. Or, you may sleep so soundly that you don't even realize that you are dreaming. We just don't know unless you see the effects for yourself." He paused for a moment. "I really don't think you're a good candidate for drug therapy. What I do think, is that we talk some more and try to pinpoint what may have triggered your current inability to perform. So, Peeta, I think it would be helpful if you can you tell me, as best as you can recall, when was the last time that you and Katniss were intimate?"

Shit. It's come to me having to tell him…stuff. But I want to figure out what's wrong. For me. And, most of all, for Katniss. And so, I took a deep breath…and began to talk.

---

Convincing Coin to stop treating Cashmere, Gloss, and the others like prisoners of war was only one half of my battle. The other half would be to convince them that they weren't prisoners of war…and to get them to cooperate with us in recording propos. My biggest problem was that I simply didn't know them well enough. I needed someone that did know them…and commanded their respect at the same time.

Fortunately, I had Finnick Odair on my side.

Finnick was a changed man since his reunion with Annie Cresta. For that matter, Annie was a changed woman. There was scarcely a trace of the psychological problems that had been so disabling to her when we were in Capitol incarceration. She was calm, even serene, and when I spoke to her it was as if "crazy" Annie Cresta had never existed. Annie and Finnick had been virtually inseparable since her arrival here in Thirteen, and it was clear to me that each supported the other, mentally as well as emotionally.

Finnick readily agreed to talk to the Career Victors. He suggested that he and Haymitch speak to them before either Katniss or I got involved. He felt that Cashmere, Gloss, and Enobaria would respond better to a pair of veteran Victors rather than a pair of newcomers such as Katniss and myself. And, considering the somewhat strained relationship that I had with those three, I was more than happy to let Finnick and Haymitch break the ice with them.

Johanna Mason was another story. She resented her treatment since our rescue, and I can't say that I blamed her. Even though Coin had all but promised not to pursue any charges against her, I couldn't shake the feeling that Johanna would face Coin's full wrath if she refused to cooperate in any way. And Johanna was hot-tempered enough to do just that. There were others that I had to work on – Casca Bishop, Andromeda Snow, and Sperantia Blackstone – but I needed to get Johanna on my side first.

I didn't waste any more time. As soon as I was finished with my session with Aurelius I headed straight for the level that Johanna was being held – not coincidentally the same level that the Capitol expatriates had been held when we had first arrived in Thirteen. She was sharing quarters with Lavinia, which probably suited Johanna, never a fan of small talk, just fine. I'm sure it rankled Johanna to know that Lavinia had more freedom of movement than she did, spending most of her waking hours working with her fellow Avox, Pollux. It seemed that, as Finnick did with Annie, Messalla had readily agreed to supervise Lavinia as a condition of her parole – an arrangement that Pollux was quite pleased with.

I was just outside Johanna's quarters as I paused to catch my breath after wheeling myself from the hospital. Unlike Beetee Latier, whose injuries would most likely keep him confined to his wheelchair for the rest of his life, my chair was regarded as temporary, and I was expected to propel myself around Thirteen as much as possible as part of my physical therapy. It was harder than I thought it would be and, to my disgust, I found myself out of breath upon my arrival at Johanna's door.

There was a single guard outside her door. He had already been given the word that me – or someone from Information Warfare, as Plutarch's propo operation was called – would be arriving.

"She's inside," he said. "I was told that you would be down here today. She's all yours."

"Thanks," I managed to say as I worked on catching my breath. The guard nodded once and left.

Once the guard was out of sight I reached out and knocked firmly on Johanna's door. On the other side of the door I could hear movement and a muffled curse or two before the door slid open and Johanna Mason stood in the opening, staring down at me in surprise.

"Well, well," she said finally, stepping aside so I could enter. "Look what the mutt dragged in. I thought it was my shadow at first. Where is he, by the way?" She stuck her head out the door and looked around curiously.

"Hello, Jo," I said quietly as I rolled my chair through the door. "Your 'shadow' has been relieved. I was wondering if you had time to talk for a bit."

Johanna laughed - a short, humorless bark – and beckoned me into her quarters with a grand sweep of her arm. "Time? Well, I think I can squeeze you in. My appointments secretary isn't here right now, but I'm pretty sure my schedule is clear."

I ignored the sarcasm and rolled up to the small dining table. "Is here okay?"

Johanna shrugged. "Sure. Why not?" She pulled out a chair, spun it around, and straddled it, resting her forearms across the chair back. "I'd offer you a chair, but I see you brought your own."

She's bitter, I reminded myself. Bitter and angry. Ignore it. "I'm sorry," she continued. "I would offer you something to drink, but all I have is water. They won't let me bring anything back from the mess hall."

"I'm fine," I replied evenly.

Johanna cocked her head to one side and raised an eyebrow as she regarded me coolly. "Really? You sure as shit don't look fine."

I tapped the arms of my chair. "It's temporary," I explained. "Until I regain my strength."

Johanna sat up and leaned back slightly. "You surprised us all, Handsome," she said. "The night we got sprung, I mean. I was positive that we'd have to leave you behind, considering how banged up you were."

I gazed steadily into her eyes. "I don't think you would have done that."

A smile flickered at the corners of her mouth. "You sound pretty sure of that."

I shrugged. "Maybe I know you better than you think I do."

Johanna leaned forward again and ran one hand through her short, spiky hair. "Well, the Careers would've left you behind, and not thought twice about it." She shook her head. "Assholes," she muttered. "Heads so far up Snow's ass –"

"And yet, they were in the same prison that we were," I pointed out.

Johanna's eyes narrowed slightly. "I hate it when you're right," she muttered. "All right," she continued. "Why don't you get to the point of your visit?"

"I need your help," I said. Quickly I outlined the idea of using the Victors to appear in a series of propos. Johanna said nothing as I spoke, but, judging from her facial expressions and her body language, I could tell that, overall, she was less than thrilled with the idea.

I was spot on. As I finished, I looked at Johanna with a kind of curious dread, expecting an angry explosion. She didn't disappoint me. Taking a final deep breath, I asked, "Well? What do you think?"

"Let me get this straight." Johanna's voice was low and tightly controlled. "We're supposed to record some anti-Capitol propaganda, and in return we won't be treated like criminals anymore?"

"That's the general idea, yes," I replied carefully.

"And this was Heavensbee's idea?"

"Yes, mostly."

"You know, Handsome," Johanna continued, as her tone became almost conversational, "I had heard talk that I was gonna be put on trial for making those anti-Rebellion broadcasts."

"Annie and I both signed affidavits attesting that you made those videos with Caesar Flickerman under duress," I said quickly, "And both Haymitch and Boggs vouched for your actions during the rescue."

"Who?" Johanna asked sharply.

"Boggs," I replied patiently. "The soldier in charge of the rescue."

"Oh. Him." Johanna scratched the back of her head absently. "So, what's in it for me?" she asked.

"Everyone that came out with us is free to move about Thirteen," I explained. "Except Sperantia Blackstone, of course. You'll still wear an ankle tracker for now, but that's more to alert you if you try to enter a restricted area without permission. No more guards, no more escorts."

"And what if one of these gophers decides they have an issue with what I said during my interviews with Flickerman, and wants to make something of it?"

"Coin will make an announcement to the district later today," I explained quickly, "informing Thirteen that you and the others are to be considered allies. You may get a dirty look or two, but that's it."

"Ha!" Johanna looked amused. "As if that would bother me." She ran one hand through her hair again. "And if I don't cooperate with Plutarch's little productions?"

"Then there's no deal. More than likely, you'll be tried for treason to the Rebellion," I said bluntly.

"You know," Johanna said after a moment, a thoughtful expression on her face, "it would almost be worth it to tell this 'President' Coin to take her deal and shove it up her ass sideways, just to see the look on her face."

"Jo –" I began, alarmed at what she had just said.

Johanna regarded me seriously for a moment. "Relax, Handsome," she finally said. "I may be crazy, but I'm not stupid – or suicidal. I'll be good."

"You better," I warned. "Jo, they're not playing around here. These people are deadly serious."

"Point taken." She looked at me quizzically. "Say, where's your girlfriend? You know…the 'Mockingjay?'"

"Getting ready for another propo," I said, clenching my jaw slightly at the memory of my failure from the previous night. I ignored Johanna's mocking tone. "They're sending her out to some of the pacified districts for some quick shoots, until you and the others can join them in the field."

Johanna's eyebrows arched up in surprise. "Not you?"

I gestured at my chair. "Like this?" I asked, a hint of bitterness creeping into my voice.

"I see your point." Johanna looked at me pointedly. "Okay, Handsome. What do I need to do next?"

"Push me," I said as I backed away from the table. "My arms are tired. We need to go see someone."

"What do you mean, 'we?'" Johanna asked.

"I mean 'we,' as in you and me," I said. "And 'we' need to go see Andromeda Snow."

Johanna's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why her?"

"Because," I explained patiently, "then the three of us will pay Casca Bishop a visit, and finally, all four of us will go down to Level Thirty-Nine and have a talk with Sperantia Blackstone."

"You mean the little Loyalist bitch?" Johanna asked in surprise. "Why?"

"We're going to convert her," I said as Johanna grabbed the handles of my chair. "And then we'll be able to put her on display to the whole country as the first Loyalist-turned-Rebel."

"Good luck with that," she muttered as she pushed me towards the elevator.

PART V

President Alma Coin's private office was a direct reflection of the woman that led District Thirteen, and, by extension, the Rebellion. It was neat to the point of obsession, despite the numerous reports – both on paper and electronic – that awaited her perusal, and, if necessary, her approval. Only a single personal decoration graced her desk – a framed photograph of a younger, softer-looking Alma Coin, flanked by the image of a smiling man and a girl, also smiling, and somewhat younger than Primrose Everdeen. I realized that these people must be her deceased husband and daughter, and for a moment I could empathize with this woman who, like me, had lost her entire family.

That moment passed quickly. "I see you've had some success in your negotiating with Johanna Mason and Casca Bishop?" She asked, glancing up from her PADD.

"Yes, ma'am," I replied. "Convincing Johanna was easier than I thought, and I doubt if I would have had the success that I had with Casca if it wasn't for Meda Snow's help."

"I see." Coin looked back down at her PADD. "I've had similar reports from Plutarch Heavensbee and Haymitch Abernathy regarding their efforts with the Career Victors. Apparently, Finnick Odair was instrumental in 'greasing the skids,' as Mr. Abernathy so eloquently put it, in convincing them to cooperate."

She looked back up at me and gazed at me intently. This was the first time that I had ever been in her private office, and alone with her. She has that same quality that Snow has, I said to myself. That I am in charge and WILL be obeyed quality. "So, when can I expect you to begin recording propos again?" She asked.

"Plutarch wants me out of this first," I explained, gesturing towards my wheelchair. "He feels it would send the wrong message to Snow if I appeared on propos like this." I paused for a moment before continuing. "I also would like to begin to work on Sperantia Blackstone."

Coin looked skeptical. "I still think that's a waste of time. However, if it doesn't interfere with your rehabilitation, or with the acclimatization of your fellow escapees, I will allow it." She shook her head. "The Blackstone girl is an unrepentant Loyalist; whose father is very highly placed in Snow's government. I don't see her 'converting' any time soon."

"Dr. Aurelius thinks she will 'convert,' President Coin," I replied. "She's angry, and stubborn, and spoiled – but she's also a fourteen-year-old girl who has been in virtual solitary confinement since her arrival here. She's scared, and alone, and has no idea what will happen to her. Dr. Aurelius feels that the sight of a familiar face – Meda's – may help in breaking down whatever resistance that she has left."

"Well, no harm in trying," Coin said. She looked back down at her PADD. "Keep me posted, Soldier Mellark."

I had been dismissed. And, as I left Coin's inner sanctum, I headed directly for Johanna's quarters.

We had some work to do.

---

Level Thirty-Nine was not quite what I expected.

I had been expecting a dungeon. To my surprise, Thirty-Nine didn't appear all that much different from any other level in District Thirteen. It was clean, well-lit, and with the sterile appearance that seemed to distinguish the bulk of the district. What it did lack, however, was people.

There weren't many prisoners down here, and those that were here were confined to their cells – termed 'compartments' here - for all but an hour or two each day. Johanna, Andromeda, and I – we decided not to include Casca, as Sperantia's interactions with him consisted primarily of him repeatedly stunning her - were met by a single guard. This guard, an ordinary District Thirteen soldier that was on prison detail, explained that she would accompany us with the prisoner Blackstone if we left Level Thirty-Nine. To my surprise, she wasn't armed with anything other than a small electronic control that would administer a stun charge to any prisoner wearing a specially-tuned ankle tracker.

The guard assured me that Sperantia Blackstone was wearing such an ankle tracker.

The guard greeted us when we arrived. "Right this way," she said as we stepped off the elevator. "I've been told to expect you. Prisoner Blackstone is in compartment Thirty-Nine-Oh-Eight."

Johanna grasped the handles of my chair and pushed as we followed the guard. Andromeda stuck close to my side, staring wide-eyed all around as we moved through the prison. "How'd you get so lucky to draw this assignment?" Johanna asked.

The guard glanced at Johanna contemptuously. She, of course, had heard Coin's announcement, but that didn't change her mind regarding how she personally felt about Johanna Mason's 'treasonous' conduct. "Everyone rotates through here," she explained briefly. "One-year tours."

She stopped in front of a door. "Here we are."

Before unlocking the door, the guard pressed a button set into the wall, next to a speaker grill. "Prisoner," she called out. "Stand up, move to the rear of the compartment, place your forehead against the wall, and place your hands behind your back."

"What's that all about?" Johanna muttered.

The guard didn't turn around as she replied. "SOP. It's a safety issue."

SOP. Standard Operating Procedure. Johanna snorted derisively. "For a fourteen-year-old Capitolite?" She looked at Andromeda with a smirk. "No offense."

"Finnick Odair was fourteen when he won the Games," Andromeda pointed out.

I chuckled inwardly at Andromeda's retort. "Jo," I managed to say with a straight face, "and Meda. Enough." I looked at the guard. "Open it up."

The guard nodded and spoke quietly into a hand-held radio. A moment later, I heard a buzzing followed by the mechanical sound of a lock being disengaged. The door popped open slightly and the guard stepped forward to slide it open all the way.

"What would happen if someone inside tried to jump you?" I asked as the guard slid the door open.

"We're being video monitored," she explained. "The prisoner could be stunned from the control room." She gestured into the compartment. "There's your prisoner."

Sperantia Blackstone had followed the guard's instructions to the letter. She was standing at the rear of the compartment, her forehead resting against the wall, her hands clasped behind her back. I could see an ankle tracker clamped firmly around her right ankle. She waited, unmoving, for her next command. Obviously, she had learned the routine here quickly.

The guard, one hand resting casually on the stun control, said, "Recover. Turn and face the door."

Sperantia unclasped her hands and pushed herself away from the wall and turned around slowly. The compartment was small, even claustrophobic, with only a narrow metal cot for furniture. A combination metal toilet and water dispenser was set in the rear of the room. Sperantia was dressed in a standard district gray coverall, her dark hair pulled back and tied behind her head. She was completely devoid of the studs and rings that she had worn in her numerous piercings. And, judging from the smell, she hadn't bathed in several days.

Andromeda was the first to speak. "Speri," she said softly, her voice catching in her throat.

Sperantia's eyes narrowed and her face clouded with anger. "What do you want?"

I glanced up at the guard. "When was the last time she bathed?"

"When she was brought in," the guard replied. "It's SOP for new arrivals."

"We can't take her out of here looking like this," I said. "She needs to get cleaned up and given fresh clothing."

"Prisoners bathe once weekly in winter," the guard said doggedly. "Twice weekly in summer. It's –"

"SOP, I know," I interrupted. "This isn't SOP. We need to get her cleaned up and changed into clean clothes."

"Where are you taking me?" Sperantia asked, as she glanced from the guard back to me.

I looked over at the girl, her face still set in angry defiance, but now with a slight tremor of fear in her voice. "Do you remember me?" I asked.

I had to give her credit. Scared or not, she was putting up a brave front. "Yes. You're Peeta Mellark, the traitor." She looked at Andromeda. "And so are you, Meda."

Andromeda looked like she was about to cry. "Speri, please –"

"Andromeda," I said firmly. "Later." I returned my attention to Sperantia. "Do you like your 'compartment?'"

"No," she replied flatly, and then added, "I want to go home."

"Do you know where we are, Sperantia?" I asked.

"They said this was District Thirteen," the girl replied after a moment. "But I know that's a lie. District Thirteen was destroyed during the Dark Days."

"They told all of us that," I pointed out. "And they reminded us every year during the Reapings that Thirteen was destroyed. But it wasn't. And this is it."

"I don't believe you," Sperantia whispered.

"All right, smart-ass," Johanna said. "Then you tell us where we are." She gestured around us with one arm. "Have you ever seen or heard of any place like this anywhere in Panem?"

Uncertainty crossed Sperantia's face. "No," she admitted.

"We were lied to, Sperantia," I said gently. "All of us. Capitol and districts alike."

"Look at me," Johanna insisted. "You know who I am, right?"

Sperantia's eyes narrowed again as she looked at Johanna. "Yes."

"Peeta and I," Johanna continued, "we're Victors. Just like Cashmere, and Gloss, and Enobaria. Just like Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta. Oh yes, he's here too. Haymitch Abernathy and Katniss Everdeen also." She paused for a moment. "Nine Victors right here in Thirteen. Tell me, Loyalist, what did they tell you about us Victors?"

"What do you mean?" Sperantia asked.

"Oh, shit," Johanna said disgustedly. "You know. That same old tired spiel they played at every Reaping. You watched the Reapings, right?" Sperantia nodded. "Remember all the shit about Victors being 'bathed in riches, living in luxury,' and all the rest?"

"It's the truth," Sperantia replied stubbornly. "I've been to District One. I've seen how Victors live."

"Then maybe you can tell me something," Johanna continued conversationally. "If the life of a Victor was so great, then why are we all here?"

Sperantia was silent, but I could tell that Johanna's words affected her. "If being a Victor was so fucking great, then why did all of us here give it up?" Johanna continued. "Why did Victors like Blight from Seven, Mags from Four, and Seeder from Eleven die supporting the Rebellion? I'll tell you why, Loyalist! It's because we were all poor district scum before we 'won' the Games, that's why! We remember what life was like before the Games. And the Capitol lied to us all."

"You're willing to die for this?" Sperantia asked in amazement.

Johanna's face was fixed in an expression of determination. "This place ain't perfect," she replied – no doubt referring to her recent treatment – "but it's better than being a slave to the Capitol. And I would rather die for something, than live for nothing."

"What do you want from me?" Sperantia asked, once Johanna finished her rant.

"Just to show you some things," I said reassuringly. "That's all."

"And if I refuse?" Defiant Sperantia was making another appearance. And, even though she would have gladly seen me die, I couldn't help but admire her spirit.

"You go right back into your 'compartment,'" I replied. "And there you will stay until they figure out just what to do with you."

The girl thought it over for a moment, and then sighed and said, "Fine. But don't expect me to change my mind about anything."

It was a minor victory. I'll take it. "Good," I said. I turned towards the guard. "Get her cleaned up, please. And show us where we can wait, other than here."

The guard led us to a small group of tables where the prisoners ate their meals. A large video screen, now dark, adorned one wall. It reminded me of the other mess halls that I had eaten in here in Thirteen. The guard led Sperantia away to get her cleaned up and dressed in a new coverall. Once they were out of sight I turned towards Johanna, who was perched on the table, her feet resting casually on the bench seat.

"To say that you shocked me today would be an understatement, Jo," I said. "I didn't expect you to be that…passionate…about, well, everything."

Johanna chuckled softly. "Don't get me wrong, Handsome," she replied. "I'm still sorely pissed at the way I've been treated here. But I do believe in the Rebellion." Her voice dropped slightly. "I'm just not all that thrilled about Coin leading it."

"I understand," I said. I turned towards Andromeda, who was sitting next to me, and was looking miserable. "You okay?" I asked.

"No," Andromeda said as she sniffed back a tear. "Speri hates me."

Her words made me think about people that, sadly, I hadn't really thought about for a long time. My family. How hurt I had been at the way they treated me. How angry I was. And how I shunned them – until I realized that I could be angry with them, even with my father, and still never stop loving them. I thought of Cressida, whom Katniss trusted implicitly, until Katniss felt betrayed by Cressida's attempts to comfort me during my Victory Tour – right up to the point where Cressida took a bullet meant for Katniss and died to protect her.

Andromeda Snow was a lonely, fourteen-year-old girl in the strangest place she could have possibly imagined – and now she was convinced that her best friend hated her. If she started to have second thoughts –

"I don't think she really hates you," I said reassuringly, hoping that I was correct. "I think she's angry with you, and feels betrayed, but I don't think she truly hates you."

Andromeda looked over at me and wiped a tear away with the heel of her hand. "You really think that's it? That she's just mad?"

I nodded. "Give it time. You're her only friend here."

"And in the meantime," Johanna added, "I'll give her something else to think about." She grinned at me. "She's taking over as your chair pusher."

"I'm sure, given her circumstances, that she'll be glad to push me around," I replied. "And it just so happens that we have another stop to make after we leave here."

"Where are we going, Peeta?" Andromeda asked.

"The hospital," I replied with a smile. "I have to see a physical therapist, and there's someone there that I want you and Sperantia to meet."

PART VI

"Hi!" Primrose Everdeen extended her right hand towards Andromeda Snow. "I'm Primrose Everdeen."

"I know," Andromeda said as she took Prim's hand. I could see that Andromeda had the same star-struck, glazed expression in her eyes that she had the day that she first met Katniss and I. "I mean, hi. I'm Andromeda Snow."

"Nice to finally meet you," Prim said sincerely. Prim was as different from Katniss than two sisters could possibly be. She was warm, and open, and everyone took an instant liking to her. "Katniss and Peeta told me about your visit to Twelve. Welcome to District Thirteen."

"Thank you," Andromeda said softly. She looked around the ward. "Is your mother here too?"

"She's working, but in a different part of the hospital," Prim explained. She looked past Andromeda to Sperantia Blackstone, who had been hovering in the background near her ever-present guard.

"Is this your friend?" Prim asked Andromeda.

"Yes," Andromeda replied, her voice catching just a bit.

"No, I'm not, Meda," Sperantia said through clenched teeth.

Andromeda looked apologetically at Prim. "I…I'm sorry," she stammered. "This is Speri…I mean, Sperantia Blackstone."

I glanced over my shoulder at Johanna. "I think we can leave them here for a bit," I said softly. "I need to get to rehab soon."

Johanna leaned down until her lips almost touched my ear. "And miss the fireworks?" she whispered. "The little Loyalist looks like she's about to explode!"

I could tell that both Sperantia and Andromeda were tense, but I had to trust the guard to step in if things looked like they were going to get out of hand. Prim was even now extending her hand towards Sperantia, and, for a moment, I doubted the wisdom of my idea to bring both girls to the hospital. Sperantia's arms were rigid, her fingers curled towards her palms as Prim stepped forward, a friendly smile on her face.

"I'm Primrose Everdeen," she said. "Nice to meet you, Sperantia."

Sperantia hesitated for several long seconds, until finally she slowly extended her hand, grasping Prim's briefly. "What kind of name is Primrose, anyway?" she asked, in a tone dripping with insolence.

Prim's smile barely flickered. "It's a flower that grows near District Twelve," she explained. "My sister was named after another flower. Katniss."

"Hmmph," Sperantia grunted. "I've never heard of someone naming their kid after a flower."

"My father named Katniss and I," Prim said evenly. "He was killed in a mine accident when I was seven."

Sperantia said nothing, and, for a moment, it seemed that Prim's words had an effect on her. "Sperantia is a nice name," Prim continued. "Does it mean anything?"

"Yes," Sperantia replied. "It means Hope."

I had been just about to tell Prim and the guard that Johanna and I had to leave to go to rehab when Sperantia told Prim what her name meant. "Wait!" I hissed at Johanna, who had already grabbed the handles on the rear of my wheelchair. I could feel my heart thudding in my chest as that single word settled over me, and months of confusion and cryptic, nonsensical messages from both Gale and Gamma suddenly made sense.

Save Hope.

Take both.

Protect Hope.

Things aren't always what they seem.

Hope is the key.

"Your name means Hope?" I asked in a trembling voice.

Sperantia glanced over towards me. "Yes." She paused for a moment before adding, almost reluctantly, "My father named me, too."

"I like it," Prim said with a smile.

"Thanks," Sperantia muttered as she rolled her eyes. She turned towards Johanna and I. "How long are we going to stay here? I don't like how this place smells."

The smile faded from Prim's face. "It smells like this because of the antiseptic and disinfectants that we use. There's a lot of sick and injured people in here. There is a war on, you know."

Sperantia glanced back at Prim. "Yes, I know," she said coldly. "Started by you Rebels."

"Speri –" Andromeda began.

"Don't call me that!" Sperantia erupted. "Only my friends call me that!"

"What is the purpose of all the noise out here?" Dr. Josephus Picardo strode purposefully into the room. He fixed Sperantia with a glare. "Young woman, this is a hospital. We are quiet in hospitals. Do you understand me?"

"Do you have any idea who my father is?" Sperantia snapped.

"I do, indeed, Miss Blackstone," Picardo replied. "I, too, am Capitol-born, and I, too, was brought here against my wishes, not to mention against my better judgment. And your father being the Minister of Security carries absolutely no weight here." He examined her closely, paying special attention to her ankle tracker. "You, young miss, are a prisoner. Like it or not. And, I strongly suggest that you behave."

Sperantia was silent for several seconds. Finally, she said, quietly, "If you're Capitol, then you've turned." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder in Andromeda's direction. "Just like her."

Picardo shook his head sadly. "I want what's best for Panem, Miss Blackstone." He glanced at Andromeda. "As I'm sure you do, Miss Snow."

"Yes, I do," Andromeda replied softly.

"Tell me, Miss Blackstone, did you enjoy watching the Games?" Picardo asked suddenly.

The sudden change of subject took Sperantia off guard. "Uhh, yeah. I…sure." She gave Andromeda a contemptuous look. "Well, not as much as her, but…yeah."

Picardo nodded. "Most Capitol-born do," he said. He turned towards me. "Young Victor, if I may, I would like to borrow these two for a bit. There's something that I would like to show them both." He smiled at the guard. "You as well, of course, Soldier."

I wondered what Picardo was planning, but I didn't ask questions. "Sure. I have to get to rehab…in fact I'm already late." Truthfully, the shock of my discovery had pushed rehab completely out of my mind – but I was grateful that Picardo was willing to take both girls for a bit. Judging from Prim's expression, she really didn't want Sperantia around anyway. Not that I could blame her.

Picardo smiled. "Excellent. Come along, ladies."

I watched as Picardo herded both Andromeda and Sperantia down the corridor, with the guard following close behind. As soon as they turned a corner, I looked up at Johanna. "Let's go," I said. "Sorry. You're back to pushing me."

Johanna fell in behind me and, with a quick goodbye to Prim – who I could see was still upset – we headed towards the rehab clinic. We didn't get far, though. Johanna suddenly stopped near a door marked "Utility," and, after glancing around to make sure that we weren't being watched, slid the door open and quickly pushed my chair through the opening. Once we were both inside the cramped room she slid the door shut behind her and fumbled with the latch.

"Shit," she muttered. "No lock."

"Jo, would you mind telling me what the hell you're doing?" I asked sharply.

The room was musty and poorly lit. There were cleaning supplies stacked on shelves. The smell of disinfectant was strong. Johanna spun my chair around until I was facing her and then squatted down until she was eye level with me.

"You first, Handsome," she said. "You tell me why you damn near passed out when that little bitch told you about her name."

"I didn't –"

"Bullshit." Johanna leaned forward and gripped the arms of my chair tightly, her knuckles white with tension. "I saw your reaction when she said that her name meant 'Hope.' Now tell me what the fuck it means."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I muttered.

"Once again – bullshit." Johanna relaxed her grip on my chair, but didn't let go completely. "Let's try this one more time."

I shook my head. "You'll think I'm crazy."

"I already do," Johanna said conversationally. "You're a Victor. All of us are crazy."

"You won't believe me," I continued.

"Try me," Johanna replied.

There was no way Johanna was going to let me go anywhere until I told her about the strange visions of Gale and Gamma. Well, she asked for it. I took a deep breath and began to speak.

"It all started," I began, "when I was lifted out of my arena, right after I survived my Games –"

---

"- And that's what caused my reaction," I finished. "It can't be coincidence. Every time they visited they threw more hints at me. And with her name actually meaning 'Hope' –"

"Handsome, I'll say this once. You tell anyone else and you end up in a rubber room." Johanna eyed me skeptically. "Maybe you should just -"

"Don't you see?" I asked, a note of pleading creeping into my voice. "During the rescue, when I saw that Andromeda was helping Casca, I thought it was her that Gale and Gamma had been talking about. But it's not her. It's Sperantia!"

"Did you notice one small detail?" Johanna asked.

"What?" I snapped.

"She's a Loyalist," Johanna pointed out. "Didn't you see her in there? She all but spit in that Primrose girl's face – and the only reason she didn't is because she doesn't want to end up in solitary again."

I rubbed one hand over my face. "Yeah," I said wearily. "I know. But all the clues point to her."

"Look, Handsome," Johanna said, her voice surprisingly soft, "I don't see her 'converting' any time soon. She may have value as a hostage at some point –"

"You sound like Coin now," I muttered.

"You don't need to get insulting," Johanna chided me gently. She stood up. "We can't hide in here all day long. Come on."

"What am I gonna do about Sperantia?" I asked, as Johanna opened the door, glanced in both directions, and then quickly wheeled me back into the corridor.

"Right now, not a damn thing," Johanna replied. "Because, at this moment, I need to get you to rehab. You need to get your strength back. I'll be fucked if I'm gonna push this damn chair all over this gopher hole for much longer."

But, as Johanna pushed me towards rehab, I was unable to shake one nagging thought. I now knew that Sperantia was the "Hope" that Gamma had spoken of – now I just had to figure out exactly why she was so important. And that's what had me worried.

---

Rehab was much worse than I could have imagined. By the time the therapist was finished with me, I was a sweating, trembling mess. And the worst part about was that they expected me back at the same time the next day.

After I finished up, I wanted nothing more than to return to my quarters, get cleaned up, and rest, but that was not to be. Johanna and I still needed to retrieve Andromeda Snow and Sperantia Blackstone from the care of Dr. Josephus Picardo before we did anything else. And we found that both girls were more than willing to leave.

In fact, they were both very subdued when Dr. Picardo turned them over to us. Neither girl scarcely said a word as we returned them to their quarters – Andromeda, to her compartment near Coin's quarters, and Sperantia to her new quarters on what had become known as the "Capitol" level, due to the influx of so many Capitol expats living there. Her guard would remain – Coin had made it quite clear that she was to always remain under guard – but the responsibilities for her day-to-day routine would now be handled by the Liaison Team of Delly Cartwright and Petronia Goldsmith.

Sperantia's change of attitude both confused me and aroused my curiosity. Her hostility towards Prim Everdeen – one of the most likeable people that I had ever met – showed me that our work in converting her would not be easy, yet she displayed none of that attitude when Johanna and I picked her up. Not only were both girls subdued, but they both showed signs of having recently been crying. Picardo has something to do with this, I thought. But what did he do, exactly?

I got my answer minutes after returning to my quarters. Instead of cleaning up, I immediately called Picardo. I wanted to know exactly what he had said or done to spark such a dramatic change in Sperantia's hostile attitude. And, as it turned out, what he had done was nothing short but a stroke of genius.

Since his arrival in District Thirteen, Beetee Latier had tirelessly worked at compromising the Capitol's information and communications network. He was the reason why we could override Capitol programming to broadcast propos. And he had made it a habit to download and copy each file that he discovered along the way. Most of these files contained mundane information regarding the day-to-day minutiae of the government of Panem, but there were a few that Beetee had tagged for further examination. These files all contained information pertaining to the Hunger Games.

One subset of Hunger Games files was labeled "Tribute Post-Mortem Examinations." In effect, these were records of autopsies conducted on each Tribute that had ever died in the Games. Beetee had made these files available to the medical staff in District Thirteen. Since most Tributes died violent deaths in the arena, the Holo-vids and photographs contained in the file proved to be a valuable training tool for the pathologists in Thirteen, most of whom had never autopsied a violent death before the Rebellion began.

Picardo had explained that Dr. Aurelius had suggested the use of the Holo-vids and photographs to drive home the point that the Games were real – that real children died annually for the Capitol's entertainment. And when Picardo discovered that Sperantia Blackstone – a hard-core Loyalist – was present in his clinic, he realized that he had the perfect opportunity to test the theory.

It worked better than he had hoped.

"Both young ladies had been ardent fans of the Games," Picardo had explained. "And, in some abstract way, they both realized that the Tributes whose deaths they cheered were actually dying. However, it's another thing entirely to see a fourteen-year-old Tribute that had been cut down during the Bloodbath to be laid out on an autopsy table, completely naked, while pathologists examine the wounds in an attempt to discern which sword cut was the actual fatal blow."

"Why bother?" I had asked.

"Why, to improve training methods, of course!" Picardo had replied with a dry laugh. "The Training Center only had a few short days to work with. They needed to use that time as efficiently as possible. And what better use of time than to demonstrate the best places to stab someone?"

Picardo had admitted that it took some doing to penetrate Sperantia's shield. Dr. Aurelius had anticipated that some people would not be very moved by the autopsy videos themselves, so he had Beetee add clips from each Tribute's biographical Holo-vid. Most of these short bios were difficult to watch by themselves, as it was apparent that most of the Tributes featured in them were scared to death. The impact that they had by adding that Tribute's autopsy was enough to effect even the most fanatical Loyalist.

That explained the girls' somber mood. Now I just had to figure out how to build on that and try to really crack through Sperantia's shell.

---

"I'm leaving tonight."

I watched as Katniss quickly stuffed some essentials into a small duffel bag. She had barely spoken since returning to my quarters earlier, and now I knew the reason why. Coin was sending her back into the field.

We were just reunited! Fuck Coin! This isn't fair! "When…when did they tell you?" I asked softly.

"Two hours ago," Katniss replied tersely. "I barely had time to find Prim and my mother and tell them that I was going."

"Did they say where?"

Katniss snorted in disgust. "Classified. They're worried that Snow may make a move towards me, now that he doesn't have you and the others anymore. All I know is that it's a 'pacified' district." She wadded up a cover-all and threw it angrily into her bag. "It isn't fair!" she wailed as she spun towards me. I could see her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I just got you back!"

Painfully I rose from my chair and held out my arms. Katniss collapsed into them and clung to my shoulders, her head buried in my chest. "Hey," I said gently as I held her, "listen. I'm not going anywhere, okay? Go do the shoot, and I'll be here for you when you return." I tilted her head up and smiled at her. "Who knows? I may even 'work' by the time you get back."

"About that," Katniss choked out. "I…I didn't mean to…I mean, I really wanted to…"

"Me too," I assured her. "It's okay, Katniss."

"No," she said firmly. "No, it's not. I acted like it was your fault." She pressed her face against my chest again and her shoulders heaved with her sobs. "How can you stand being around me? I'm such a bitch!"

"After everything that we've been through?" I asked as I held her close to me. "You ain't getting' rid o' me that easy, Sweetheart!"

Katniss chuckled through her tears. "You do a horrible imitation of Haymitch, Peeta." She looked up at me again and clumsily wiped her eyes with the heel of one hand. "I just wanted everything to be perfect, you know?"

"I know," I said. "And it will. When you get back."

A quick knock caused us both to glance at the door. The door slid open a crack and a man's voice called out, "Ya'll decent?"

"Come on in, Haymitch," I replied resignedly.

The door slid open all the way, revealing Haymitch and Jackson. Haymitch's eyebrows rose when he saw Katniss and I still holding each other. "Not interruptin' anything, I hope?"

"Oh, please," Katniss muttered in disgust as she released me and stepped away, scooping up her duffel bag, bow, and quiver of arrows.

"Ready?" Jackson asked.

"No," Katniss replied flatly, "but let's get this over with."

Katniss abruptly turned towards me and pressed her lips warmly against mine. "See you soon," she whispered.

"I'll be waiting," I whispered back.

And, as I watched Katniss stride towards the elevators, flanked by Jackson and Haymitch, I heard Haymitch say, "Now that's more like it, Sweetheart!"

Just before I slid the door shut, I heard Katniss reply, "What the fuck does that mean, Haymitch?"

I smiled. I knew exactly what he meant. And I slept very well that night.

PART VII

"Everything is ready, President Snow."

Coriolanus Snow sat rigidly as a stylist carefully brushed powder onto his cheeks. "Very well, Spartacus," he replied. "Just a moment more. I want to look my best for the denizens of District Thirteen."

The stylist finally stepped back and examined her work with a critical eye. "You look wonderful, sir," she said, hoping all the while that she sounded sincere.

"I certainly hope so," Snow said quietly. He examined himself in the mirror that the stylist held. "This will do. You may go."

Once the stylist had left, Snow turned to a small group assembled to one side. "You may begin," he intoned solemnly.

"Yes, sir." A pair of technicians labored at a makeshift workstation. "We're sending the alert tone out now. When the light on the camera turns green, the connection has been established, and the other party will be displayed on the screen next to the camera."

"How long before you receive a reply?" Snow asked impatiently.

"If someone is listening on the other end, Mr. President, we should receive a response momentarily," the technician replied.

The second technician gazed at her screen in amazement. "We have received an acknowledgement of our message, sir," she said, her voice filled with awe. "The first 'Red Line' message since the end of the Dark Days!"

---

The on-duty communications technician stared uncomprehendingly at the strange message that was scrolling across his computer screen. The "Red Line?" He shook his head. What the hell was the "Red Line?"

The technician, however, was well-trained. Adjusting his headset, he quickly punched in a call-code and his call was answered almost immediately.

"Duty officer," said the voice in his headset.

"Comm watch here, Lieutenant," the technician replied. "I have a strange incoming on a reserved frequency."

"What freek?" the duty officer asked.

"Something called the 'Red Line.'"

"Acknowledge receipt immediately, Soldier," The duty officer's voice took on an urgent tone. "Do not break the connection. And stand by."

"Wilco." The communications technician was well-trained. He immediately sent an "Acknowledge" message, placed the incoming call in "Standby" mode – and waited.

The duty officer was well-trained also. As soon as he finished with the call from the comm room, he punched in a call-code that he had only rarely had to use before and waited for a response.

Again, the call was answered promptly. "Command Duty Officer, Major Zander."

"Major, this is the communications duty officer. Ma'am, I have an incoming Red Line message. Is the President available?"

Zander's eyes widened at the words "Red Line." She knew of its existence, of course, but had never thought that she would see it in use. Until just now. "Stand by," she ordered tersely. She tapped in a call-code from memory and cursed under her breath when she received an immediate message that the other party was unavailable. Quickly she entered a text-only message on her commicuff and waited impatiently for her phone to buzz.

She didn't have to wait for long. The phone buzzed less than a minute later. Major Zander answered it as soon as it sounded. "Zander."

"What's the emergency, Major?" Colonel Boggs asked softly.

"Comm has a Red Line message on hold, sir," she replied tersely.

"Advise comm that the President is on her way there," Boggs said after a brief delay. "And Major? Have Andromeda Snow located and brought to comm." He paused for a moment before adding, "Soldier Peeta Mellark as well."

"Yes, sir," Zander replied – but the connection had already been broken. Zander wasn't offended by the brusqueness displayed by Boggs. He was an efficient man and didn't waste time on niceties. Instead, she did exactly as she had been ordered to do.

---

I was with Johanna Mason, Effie Trinket, and Andromeda Snow, visiting the hydroponic farm, when the soldiers arrived looking for Andromeda and me.

A technician had been eagerly explaining, in detail, exactly how hydroponic farming worked when the pair of unsmiling soldiers, without explanation, announced that they had been ordered to escort Andromeda Snow and Soldier Mellark to the communications center. I knew that it would be useless to either argue or question the soldiers regarding these strange orders, so we did the only logical thing. We went with them.

Andromeda and I were only too glad to leave Effie and Johanna to the hydroponics lecture, and I saw Johanna wave goodbye to me by extending her middle finger in my general direction as Andromeda and I disappeared around a bend in the corridor. I was curious, of course, as to why we had been summoned, but relieved that we had been given an out. Effie and Johanna were not so lucky.

We quickly arrived in the comm center. I noticed that Coin was seated at a small table, directly opposite a large video screen and a camera. I had seen this set-up before. It looked like the same set-up that Coin used to make video addresses to District Thirteen, and again I wondered why Andromeda and I had been brought here.

Coin barely acknowledged our presence. "Make sure that they are off-camera, Boggs," she ordered.

Boggs beckoned Andromeda and I over. "Yes, ma'am."

"We're ready here, President Coin," a technician said.

"What's going on, Boggs?" I whispered.

"Something I've never seen before, and thought I would never see," Boggs replied softly. "Now, quiet."

Coin took a deep breath. "You may begin."

As we watched, a green light suddenly appeared on the camera as the video screen flickered to life. I don't know who let out the loudest gasp when the image stabilized – Andromeda or me. And, although I was in the relative safety of District Thirteen, I felt a cold rush of fear clamp down on my spine. I recognized the face on the video screen oh too well.

It was the smiling face of President Coriolanus Snow.

---

Snow seemed to peer out of the screen as if examining something closely. "Woman," he said, not unkindly, "would you be so good as to fetch your mayor? Tell him that President Coriolanus Snow wishes to speak with him."

I could see Coin's back stiffen as Snow spoke, but, to her credit, she maintained her composure quite well. "President Snow," she said formally. "My name is Alma Coin. I am the President of District Thirteen."

Snow chuckled. "My abject apologies, Mayor Coin. I was expecting a man. I meant no offense, I assure you."

Coin paused for a split-second before replying. "None taken," she said flatly. "And it's 'President,' not 'Mayor.'"

Snow's smile widened. If it wasn't for his cold stare, I would have almost thought him friendly. "Districts have 'Mayors' in Panem, not 'Presidents.' There is but one president in Panem, Mayor Coin, and you are looking at him."

I had to hand it to Coin. She did not rise to Snow's bait. "You wished to speak to me, President Snow?"

"Indeed, I do, Mayor Coin. You have something there that belongs to me." Snow leaned forward slightly. "It is my desire that it be returned to me forthwith."

"Oh?" Coin clasped her hands in front of her as she leaned forward as well. "When my staff advised me of your incoming Red Line call, I was under the assumption that you were calling to discuss the terms of your surrender."

Snow laughed again, but this time it sounded forced. "You really are delightful, Mayor Coin! I was originally going to order your summary execution, but, the more we speak, the more I am convinced that you are probably my only intellectual equal in this entire country. Tell me, do you play chess?"

"I don't have the time, President Snow," Coin replied evenly.

"Well, life imprisonment will give you the time to learn," Snow replied reassuringly. "Now then, about my property. When can I expect its return?"

"Exactly what 'property' are you referring to?" Coin asked innocently.

"I am, of course, referring to my granddaughter, Andromeda Snow," Snow replied tightly. "And another young lady by the name of Sperantia Blackstone."

"Miss Blackstone is classified as a prisoner of war, President Snow," Coin explained. "Your granddaughter, on the other hand, is our guest – a position that is only fitting for the granddaughter of the President of Panem, who just so happens to have joined the Rebellion."

Coin's words seemed to physically strike Snow, and he actually recoiled away from his camera. "My granddaughter is loyal to me, and to the lawful government of Panem. You, Mayor Coin, are lying."

"Am I?" Coin turned away from the camera and beckoned to Andromeda. "Miss Snow? Please come forward and speak with your grandfather."

"I don't want to," Andromeda whispered.

"Miss Snow," Coin said firmly, "I won't ask a third time."

I looked up at Andromeda. She was visibly shaking. She was terrified, but I knew that she needed to speak to her grandfather. "Go ahead, Meda," I said reassuringly. "I'll be right here."

For long seconds, Andromeda didn't move. Then, finally, she nodded once and walked, ever so slowly, to Coin's table. Coin rose and pulled the chair out for her. Andromeda murmured thanks, sat down carefully, and then turned to face the video screen.

And her grandfather, President Coriolanus Snow.

---

"Andromeda." Snow's voice caught in his throat.

"Hello, Grandpa," Andromeda said, her voice quivering.

Snow's lips twitched in a smile. "You look...healthy. Are you being well-treated?"

She only hesitated for a split-second. "Yes." A longer pause. "Now I am," she added. "The food isn't very good, though, and I am getting tired of wearing gray and black all the time."

"Minister Blackstone is here with me," Snow said. "He awaits word of Sperantia."

"Speri is okay," Andromeda said tightly. "I saw her only yesterday."

"That's good." Snow paused and looked down at his hands, folded in front of him and resting on his desk. "Andromeda, your parents and I are concerned about you."

"I'm fine," she replied softly.

Snow looked up, obviously fighting for control. "You heard what Mayor Coin said about you?"

"I did," Andromeda whispered.

"And?"

"I don't care about politics, Grandpa," she said, her voice quivering. "I care about people. People like Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark."

"And the people back home?" Snow asked. "What of them?"

"I care about them, too," Andromeda replied. She took a deep breath. "Ever since we visited District Twelve I've thought about the people that I saw there. People so poor that they can never get enough to eat, or sleep in a warm, dry house. And then I would think of us in the Capitol and how our lives are so much better because of what the districts provided for us. I was always taught that the districts couldn't exist without the Capitol, and that the Capitol couldn't exist without the districts."

"That's the way it has always been," Snow said. "Andromeda, tell Mayor Coin that you wish to return to the Capitol, and we will never speak of this again."

Andromeda lowered her head. "I can't."

Snow's voice hardened. "You are against me, then?"

"Grandpa, I love you," Andromeda said tearfully. "But don't you see? It's all wrong! And I'm not against you. I'm for Katniss, and Peeta, and all the others."

Snow's face clouded with grief…or maybe it was anger…or a combination of the two. Andromeda was crying openly now. I looked around and caught Boggs' eye. Stop this, I mouthed silently.

Boggs looked at me helplessly and, just as silently, mouthed I can't. This was not going well at all. I had never seen Coriolanus Snow so close to losing control. Andromeda was trembling now. I had to say something.

"President Coin –" I began, and it was then that the transmission abruptly ended.

"What happened?" Coin snapped.

"Loss of signal," a grim-faced technician replied curtly. Both technicians worked rapidly as they struggled to regain the connection.

"Get it back!" Coin ordered.

"We can't, ma'am," the technician explained. "The transmission was broken on their end. The Capitol is not responding."

"May I leave now?" Andromeda asked in a small voice.

"No, you may not!" Coin barked. To the technicians, she added, "I don't care what you need to do. Re-establish comm!"

"Ma'am –" one of the technicians began.

"Please!" Andromeda begged.

I began to roll my chair over to the table where Andromeda was sitting, and then stopped, locked the wheels, and pushed myself up awkwardly. Painfully, I managed to lurch to the table. Andromeda had buried her face in her hands and her shoulders shook with each sob. Gently, I placed one hand on her shoulder. She looked up at me, her face mottled and tear-stained.

"Peeta," she whispered, "I want to go."

"Come on, Meda," I replied softly as I slid my hand down her arm to take her hand in mine. "Let's go."

"She stays right where she is, Soldier!" Coin all but snarled at me.

I slid my arm around Andromeda's shoulder and pulled her to me protectively. "President Coin," I said respectfully, "even if you did get the connection back, do you think she could have continued to talk to her grandfather?" I looked down at the sniffling girl. "Help me back to my chair, will you?"

"O…Okay," Andromeda stammered as she did her best to support me as I stumbled back to my chair.

"Who do you think you are?" Coin asked in a low, menacing voice. "You need to remember just who is in command here, Soldier!"

"You are, ma'am," I replied. "But Andromeda Snow is not a soldier. She's a pampered, spoiled –"

"I'm not spoiled," Andromeda's soft voice said indignantly, even as she helped me settle back in my chair.

"– fourteen-year-old granddaughter of the most powerful man in Panem, who just now admitted to that same man – who she loves very deeply – that she betrayed him." I finished, ignoring Andromeda's interruption.

"Soldier Mellark has a point, President Coin," Boggs added. "The girl is still struggling to adapt here, just as all new arrivals struggle. She wouldn't be of further use in her present condition."

Coin glared at Boggs. "You too, Boggs?"

Boggs inclined his head slightly. "One of my duties is to advise you, Madam President. That is what I am doing now."

Coin alternately glared at me, then at Boggs. Finally, with a great deal of effort, she said calmly, "Miss Snow – Soldier Mellark. You are excused. Colonel Boggs, I wish a word with you in my private office. Ten minutes."

After she stalked out, I beckoned Boggs over to me. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put you in the middle of that."

Boggs shrugged. "It was obvious to me that the president needed a little guidance," he said carefully. "I just did my job and gave her some sound advice."

"So, what happens in ten minutes?" I asked.

"Nothing that you need to concern yourself with, Soldier." Boggs said, and then added, "Just remember, she's under tremendous strain." He patted me on the shoulder. "You two get out of here."

As Andromeda and I turned to leave, Boggs stopped us one last time. Bending low over me in my chair, he said softly, "I know they didn't say anything yesterday, with security being what it is and all – but she's been sent to Eight. Easy, no-stress mission. With luck, she'll be home in a few days."

"Thanks," I said sincerely. I felt better. Eight was one of the first districts to throw off the rule of the Capitol and was firmly in Rebel hands.

Katniss should be as safe there as she was here in Thirteen.

PART VIII

"President Snow, Minister Antonius is here," Spartacus announced.

Snow held up one finger in a "wait" gesture, never glancing up from the book that he was reading. Spartacus waited patiently as the President of Panem absently reached for a bookmark, laying it carefully on the page before slowly closing the book. Only then did he finally looking up and acknowledge his Chief of Security.

"I'll see him in a moment," Snow said. "Shut the door, Spartacus."

Spartacus did as he was ordered, and then turned and faced Coriolanus Snow, his arms crossed behind his back, his face carefully expressionless. "Is there something that you wish, sir?" he asked respectfully.

"Yes, there is," Snow replied pleasantly. "Order the immediate arrests of the technicians responsible for maintaining the automobile fleet."

"Sir?"

"Was I not specific enough, Spartacus?" Snow asked, as a hint of sarcasm crept into his voice.

"Yes, sir, you were," Spartacus replied. "But – what shall I charge them with."

"Gross incompetence." Snow's lips curled back in an unpleasant smile. "Apparently, the 'black box' recorder on the sedan that Casca Bishop 'appropriated' failed to function properly. If it was functioning, there most certainly would have been a record of my granddaughter's incipient treachery."

Spartacus felt the cold grip of fear seize his spine and he swallowed heavily. "Sir, I – that is to say, the techs, they – what I'm trying, sir, to say –"

"Yes?" Snow asked softly. "What are you trying to say, Spartacus?"

Spartacus inhaled deeply before replying, his nose filled with the cloying scent of blood and roses. "Sir, the recorder functioned perfectly. I have a complete record of the conversations between Bishop and your granddaughter."

"Oh?" Snow leaned back in his chair and peered at Spartacus as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Please enlighten me as to what part of your microcephalic brain caused you to think that withholding that information from me was a good idea?"

"Sir," Spartacus replied hastily, "I was going to bring the matter to your attention, but I just wasn't sure how to…" Spartacus lowered his eyes as his voice trailed off. That's it, he said to himself, I'm a dead man.

"Wasn't sure how to tell me that my granddaughter was a Rebel?" Snow finished. "That my own flesh and blood had committed treason? Were those the words that you were searching for, Spartacus?"

"Yes, sir," Spartacus admitted miserably. "President Snow, I wasn't deliberately keeping anything from you, sir. I…I just couldn't seem to find the words."

"Spartacus, necessity forces me to retain your services to me," Snow said quietly. "That, and the fact that, up until now, you have served me well and faithfully. You made an error in judgment. But know this – I will not forgive any future errors. Do I make myself clear?"

"Completely, sir," Spartacus replied, the relief evident in his voice.

"Good," Snow said firmly. "Now send Antonius in."

"Yes, sir."

---

"Sit down, Antonius," President Coriolanus Snow ordered, waving one hand towards a chair in front of his desk.

Minister Antonius did as he was ordered. He had been a soldier all his life, and was accustomed to instant obedience to orders.

"Is everything in order?" Snow asked, as soon as Antonius had settled into the chair.

"Yes, sir," Antonius replied. "As per your orders," he added slowly.

Snow picked up on the hesitation in the other man's voice. "Are you certain?"

Antonius leaned forward. "President Snow, I would have felt more comfortable if we had more time to run diagnostics and simulations. Plus, there's the matter of the warhead itself. Sir, this ordnance pre-dates the Dark Days. There's no way to predict if there will be problems."

"I was given to believe," Snow said coldly, "that your people are constantly inspecting such dated weapons systems."

"They do, sir," Antonius replied hastily. "I'm an old soldier, Mr. President. I believe in redundancy. And I also believe in thorough testing."

"Well, there's no way to really test without actually employing the weapon, now, is there?" Snow pointed out.

"No, sir," Antonius admitted.

Snow picked up an envelope and leaned across his desk, extending the envelope towards Antonius. "Your written orders, Minister," Snow explained. "You will deploy tonight."

"Tonight?" Antonius gulped. "Sir, we need updated weather information, specifically wind direction and speed, if there is any forecasted precipitation –"

"When was the last time you received a meteorological update?" Snow asked abruptly.

"Eight hours ago, sir."

"Were the conditions satisfactory then?" Snow continued.

"Yes, sir," Antonius replied reluctantly.

"Then use that data," Snow ordered. His eyes narrowed. "Is there a problem, Minister?"

"No," Antonius said slowly. "No problem, sir."

Snow smiled broadly. "Excellent! I shall expect your report on the weapons' effectiveness first thing tomorrow morning. You have your orders. Carry them out."

Antonius rose from his chair. "Yes, President Snow." He turned to leave. "Will that be all, sir?"

"One more thing," Snow said. Antonius stopped and turned back around to face him. "The bioweapon that we deployed against District Thirteen some years ago, was not nearly as effective as I had been led to believe at the time." Snow gave Antonius a pointed look. "I was quite disappointed with the results. I do not wish to be disappointed this time. Do I make myself clear?"

Antonius felt his stomach knot with fear as he replied. "Yes, sir."

---

The missile was over one hundred years old, but had been well maintained. The crews assigned to the care and upkeep of the Capitol's aging missile fleet were meticulous in their attention to detail. Still, there was a grim sense of urgency as they prepared the missile for launch. Each man and woman assigned to the launch crew felt both anticipation and dread at what they were about to do. Anticipation at launching one of these silver-skinned behemoths, and dread at the knowledge of what destruction they were capable of.

They were all Loyalists, however, and were well convinced of the righteousness of their task. They had all suffered to some extent during the Rebellion and saw nothing wrong in doing their part to bring this war to a quick end. And so, after they affixed the warhead to the missile, the technicians all personally autographed the deadly cargo, sending their own messages to the missile's intended victims.

The countdown progressed smoothly, and the crew cheered as the missile burst into blinding life, rocketing skyward from the launch pad. They eagerly tracked its flight and all noted with pride that it performed perfectly. And, after about fifteen minutes, the missile plunged towards the earth, and the crew watched as the telemetry from the weapon that they had so diligently maintained for so many years suddenly disappeared, causing the crew to cheer once more.

The loss of telemetry could only mean one thing. The warhead had detonated, as designed, at an altitude of one kilometer. As far as nuclear warheads went, it wasn't very large. It didn't have to be, for its target was not hardened nor sturdily built. And, in the dark winter sky over Panem's heartland, a new, false sun flared brilliantly, as a signal that this war had just taken a new, infinitely more lethal turn.

And, beneath the false sun, thousands of people in District Eight were instantly incinerated.