CHAPTER 21

PART I

I gazed at the sleeping forms of Primrose Everdeen and Sperantia Blackstone. "They look peaceful, anyway," I whispered.

"No need to lower your voice here, young Victor." Dr. Josephus Picardo glanced up from the chart he had been writing in before hanging it carefully at the end of Prim's bed. "They are both under rather heavy sedation."

With a nod, he indicated the IV drips hanging over both girls. "I don't understand," I said, my voice still soft despite Picardo's assurance that neither girl could hear a word I was saying. "Are their injuries worse than you originally thought?"

Picardo smiled humorlessly. "Physically, they are both recovering quite nicely," he replied. "However, their mental state is…fragile…right now."

"That, Joe, is an understatement," a new voice said from the door. Dr. Aurelius walked into the room, accompanied by a nurse and a medical technician. "Decrease the dosage for both Miss Everdeen and Miss Blackstone by twenty percent," he ordered. "Follow that up with another twenty percent decrease in six hours. They should awaken then, but with enough sedation to keep them both calm."

"Yes, Doctor," the nurse replied.

As the pair began to work, Aurelius nodded towards the door. Picardo and I caught his meaning immediately. It was getting crowded in the small hospital room with the nurse and the tech working. I nodded and followed both doctors into the hallway.

Once in the hallway Aurelius stopped. "You know, Peeta," he said tiredly, "I was quite excited when you, Katniss, and Haymitch arrived here in Thirteen. Imagine…three Hunger Games Victors. I finally had the opportunity to study and treat people that had suffered extreme psychological trauma!" He shook his head sadly. "I have more subjects now than I had ever wanted. Between you Victors, these two –" he waved his hand towards the room we had just left "- and the two in lock-up on Level Thirty-Nine, I have more patients than I can handle…not to mention the cases of mental stress that I've seen brought on by this war that we're fighting."

"Doc," I said defensively, "I'm hardly your patient. For that matter, neither is Katniss, Haymitch, Johanna –"

Aurelius held up his hand. "Spare me the recital, Peeta. I'm well aware of the stubborn streak that all of you Victors seem to share when it comes to seeking therapy. Not that you all couldn't benefit from a little counseling."

"How are the pair on Thirty-Nine faring?" Picardo asked.

"Our would-be District Eight assassin still won't give his name," Aurelius replied. "And, he's dying from that dose of radiation that the Capitol so thoughtfully gave him to 'fit in' with the other refugees." He shook his head again. "He did divulge one bit of information, though – that explosive-rigged mutt was designed to track and react to only one specific scent."

I felt a chill as Aurelius spoke. "Katniss's scent," I muttered.

Aurelius nodded. "Exactly. What's confusing is the fact that Katniss was nowhere near the refugee center at the time of the attack."

"Her hunting jacket was," I said softly. "She had made Prim wear it the morning of the attack. Prim was always forgetting to bundle up when she left her quarters."

"The mutt identified Primrose as Katniss," Picardo mused, "based on Katniss's scent clinging to the jacket."

"That makes sense," Aurelius said, nodding. "The deluded fool is convinced that he killed Katniss in the attack, and that he will receive a hero's welcome in the Capitol, once the Rebellion is defeated, of course."

"Does Katniss know?" I asked. "About her jacket triggering the attack, I mean?"

Aurelius shrugged. "I don't know. I take it she hasn't said anything to you?"

"No." I shook my head. I was sure that Katniss hadn't been told. She wasn't good at hiding her feelings where her sister was concerned.

"And what of our other fledgling assassin?" Picardo asked. "Henry Elliott?"

Henry had escaped death in the immediate aftermath of his shooting President Coin only because no one else in the conference room had been armed. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that his blood would have joined Coin's on the conference room floor if anyone present had been carrying a gun. I suppose it was strange – District Thirteen, the military district, had no one immediately available to counter Henry's violence on an equal basis – but there just didn't seem to be a need, so deep inside the district, for anyone other than those whose duties specified being under arms - guard duty, for example - to be armed. He had escaped with only minor bruises…although, once he shot Coin, he had shown no interest in shooting anyone else.

"Henry is a different story," Aurelius replied. "He's carried feelings of inadequacy, resentment, and hatred towards his Aunt Alma for years. He's blamed her for everything in his life that has gone wrong. Feelings of persecution –"

"Persecution?" I said in amazement. "By whom?"

Aurelius shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Coin, Boggs, Zander – anyone in authority would do. But Alma Coin was always his focus."

I glanced at Picardo. "How is she doing, by the way?"

"The same," he replied grimly. "The bullets did tremendous damage. She's been in a coma since her first emergency surgery."

"Will she…I mean, is she going to –" I stammered.

"We've done all we can," Picardo said. "And I don't think it was enough."

I didn't like Alma Coin. She may not smell of blood and roses, but her actions were, in many instances, so like President Snow's that I often wondered to myself exactly whose side she was on, and if things would really change for the better once Snow had been forced from power. There was no doubt that Alma Coin enjoyed power and was eager to expand her authority outside District Thirteen to all Panem.

Now, it seemed, she would never get that opportunity.

"How long, do you think?" Aurelius asked softly.

It was Picardo's turn to shrug. "I'm no cardiac surgeon, but she's alive now courtesy of the best District Thirteen medical technology available." He let out a humorless chuckle. "She has machines breathing for her, and machines pumping her blood." He sighed heavily. "In the Capitol she would have already had an artificial heart placed in her chest - if she hadn't had a new heart grown for her and busy pumping blood less than a day after being shot."

At that moment, the nurse and the technician walked out of the room. "We're through, Doctor," the nurse said to Aurelius.

"Fine," Aurelius replied absently. "Please inform your relief to keep me up-to-date."

"I will."

We waited until the nurse and the technician were out of sight. "I need to go," I announced reluctantly. "Plutarch wants to speak to me about some idea he has."

Aurelius nodded. "I'll make sure you're kept updated. You and Katniss both."

I gave Aurelius a small smile. "Thanks."

"I'll walk with you," Picardo said as I turned to leave.

I wondered about Picardo's sudden desire to walk with me. After all, he wasn't the most social person that I've ever met. I didn't have to wonder for long, though.

"Tell me, young Victor," he said quietly as we walked. "Is it worth it?"

"Is what worth it?" I asked, confused.

Picardo jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Your friend Primrose, and your almost-friend Sperantia, laying, heavily sedated, in hospital beds in this rabbit warren of a district."

I didn't immediately answer. Was it worth it? Thousands had died in the Rebellion, on both sides – including friends and family. I had never really stopped to think about what Picardo had asked. The cost had been high. But, with Prim and Speri now casualties of the war, had the cost suddenly become too high?

"Look at yourself," Picardo continued. "Surviving the Third Quarter Quell. Losing a leg. Captured, abused, and tortured by the Capitol. Literally hours away from your own execution. And yet, you go doggedly on with your noble cause."

"You wouldn't understand," I finally muttered.

Picardo smiled grimly. "You forget, I was there when the opening shots of this war were fired. There I was, a reluctant participant, given a choice between cooperation with the Rebels – or death. That choice was easy. I am, after all, rather fond of my own skin." He paused for a moment. "But now…now it's different somehow." He shook his head. "I've seen too much death on both sides. Too many lives forever altered by this war. Primrose and Sperantia will recover from their physical wounds – but what of their unseen injuries? Those they will carry for their entire lives, just as you and the other Victors do. That is too high a price for them to pay."

"What are you saying?" I asked. "That we should have just gone along with the way things were? With people in the districts starving and being worked to death? That, Doctor, is not living. That's existing while waiting to die."

"You sound like Cashmere," Picardo replied ruefully. "I was shocked that a Capitol favorite such as herself would have such strong sentiments against the hand that fed her."

"Her brother died protecting Prim," I pointed out.

"True," Picardo murmured. "You're right. I don't understand. And I doubt that I ever will."

We reached a bank of elevators. I punched the call button and waited for the elevator to respond to the call. While waiting, I turned back to Picardo. "Why tell me all this?" I asked.

"I wanted to understand what motivates you," he replied. "And, to tell you that I intend to give up the practice of medicine once this war is over."

"What?" I asked in amazement.

The elevator clanged to a stop. "I never again want to see another broken body. Nor do I wish to witness another broken mind." He nodded towards the elevator. "You had best be going to your appointment with Mr. Heavensbee," he added. "And I'll go back to my duties – and dream of the day when they will no longer be required."

As the elevator began to move, I caught one last glimpse of Dr. Picardo, striding back to the hospital. It was somehow humbling to discover that a man as aloof and detached as Picardo could be affected by the Rebellion to such an extent that he wanted to quit medicine once the war was over. I had always looked at him as a picture of quiet strength. It made me wonder how much longer I could go on, if Picardo was teetering on the breaking point himself.

I already knew the answer, though. I'll go on as long as I need to. For myself. For Prim, Speri, and all the others.

But most of all – for Katniss.

PART II

"This is what I propose," Plutarch Heavensbee began. "It's become obvious that field propos still pose too much of a risk to you and Katniss. You two are a target for Snow every time you set foot outside Thirteen. So, we eliminate the risk, and still keep you and Katniss visible to the people of Panem."

I leaned forward. "How?"

Plutarch glanced to his left. "Fulvia?"

I winced inwardly. Of course, I had noticed Plutarch's assistant, Fulvia Cardew, sitting at the table when I entered the room. I had also hoped that she was there to simply feed Plutarch information, should he need it, or to take detailed notes on the meeting for Plutarch's later review. Now, however, it appeared that she was there to be an active participant. And Fulvia, for all the value that Plutarch placed on her, had a personality that grated on just about everyone not named Plutarch Heavensbee.

"It's simple, really," Fulvia said. "And a logical progression from the field propos. We put you in the studio, right here in Thirteen. Zero risk to you, Katniss, or anyone else. My working title is 'The Peeta Show'."

"Wait a minute," I sputtered. "You're calling it 'The Peeta Show'? That's the best you could come up with?"

"It's a working title only," Plutarch explained. "Of course, we'll come up with something more appropriate."

"With you as the host," Fulvia continued. "Our goal is to make you the anti-Caesar Flickerman."

Caesar Flickerman. The most recognizable face of the Hunger Games. Caesar, along with Claudius Templesmith, had been a commentator during the Tribute Parade. He had announced the scores of each Tribute once their training had been completed. He had interviewed the Tributes before a huge live audience the night before the Hunger Games began. He had provided play-by-play commentary during the Games. And, finally, he had interviewed the Victors once the Games were over.

"The anti-Flickerman," I mused. "So, I'm to, what – talk?"

"Exactly," Fulvia replied enthusiastically. "But not just talk. You get others to talk – about the Rebellion, about what a free Panem means to them, about what the end of the Hunger Games means to them."

"Talk," I repeated. "Like Caesar? I can't do what he does."

"We don't want you to," Plutarch said. "Look, I know Caesar quite well. His job was to sell the Games. Your job will be to simply show the cost of what decades of Capitol rule has done to Panem."

"What do you mean, 'sell the Games?'" I asked. No one in the districts, with the possible exceptions of the Careers, ever bought into the whole "bringing honor to your district" propaganda that had been continually spewed at us.

"Oh, not to the districts," Plutarch explained. "He sold the Games to the Capitolites."

That didn't make sense. The Capitol loved the Games. "You lost me," I muttered in confusion.

"Originally, the Games were intended as punishment to the districts for the First Rebellion and the Dark Days," Plutarch explained. "Their meaning – and the reason for holding them – would be lost after a couple of generations. So, they evolved from a mechanism of punishment to the entertainment spectacle that you knew them as. And it was Caesar's job to keep them popular – and to ensure that the Capitol supported them."

"So, I'm not to 'sell' anything," I said. "I'm just to talk. About what?"

"Get Katniss to talk about her love for her sister," Fulvia said enthusiastically. "How she volunteered for her Games to protect her. She's been carefully marketed to the Rebellion as the Mockingjay. We need to remind everyone exactly what Katniss is fighting for."

"More importantly, we need to record and broadcast interviews with Capitol Rebels," Plutarch added. "Especially Andromeda Snow and Sperantia Blackstone. Imagine the impact their words will have on the Capitol – the granddaughter of the president and the daughter of the security minister denouncing the current regime!"

"Of course," I said dryly, "you'll have to wait for Sperantia to be released from the hospital. And there's the matter of Andromeda Snow's condition."

Confusion flickered over Fulvia's face. "I was given to understand that Andromeda Snow was not injured."

"Not physically," I explained. "She's not in the hospital. She is, however, on bedrest in her quarters, under sedation."

Fulvia glanced at Plutarch. "This changes everything. If Andromeda Snow is incapacitated –"

"It's temporary, Fulvia," Plutarch assured her. "She should be available in a few days. Aurelius informed me that she's responding well to the sedation and to his therapy."

"Very well, then," Fulvia replied impatiently. "In that case, Peeta, you will simply start with other Capitol expatriates, like that doctor, for example – Peccary?"

"Picardo," I corrected irritably. "Dr. Picardo."

"So, Peeta, what do you think?" Plutarch asked hastily, perhaps sensing that Fulvia was getting on my nerves.

"This won't be scripted or anything, right?" I asked.

Plutarch shook his head. "We'll give you a few bullet points to aid in your discussion, but we want everything to be as natural as possible."

"Okay," I said after a moment. "I'm in. When do we start?"

"Right after the double wedding," Plutarch replied.

I glanced at Plutarch in surprise. "You're going ahead with that? After everything that's happened?"

"It was Haymitch's idea," Fulvia explained, somewhat defensively. "Well, Haymitch and Effie. But Finnick and Annie concurred, and Boggs approved it. He even said that it was a good idea – that Thirteen needed a distraction."

"In that case," I said as I stood up, "I have work to do."

"Work?" Fulvia frowned. "I don't understand. We still need to discuss –"

Plutarch silenced her with a wave of his hand. "Go bake your cakes, Peeta," he said, as a hint of humor crept into his voice.

"Thank you, Plutarch," I said as I headed for the door. Once outside the small meeting room, I made a sharp right and made my way to the nearest elevator.

Maybe Boggs is right, I said to myself as I walked towards the elevators. A little distraction is probably just what this place needs right now.

I headed back to my quarters after a quick stop in the kitchen, where I did a quick inventory of on-hand supplies. Once in my quarters, I sat at the table, and, from memory, jotted down a wedding cake recipe that had been popular with other merchants in District Twelve. I felt a few pangs of grief for my father as I wrote – he and I had made this particular cake together several times, and I realized guiltily that I hadn't thought about my father in a long while.

The kitchens here sure could use your help, Dad, I said to myself as I worked. My father had been a master at coaxing flavor out of the meanest ingredients. Even District Thirteen's hated turnips would have benefitted from his expert attention. The thought of my father working in the kitchens here made me smile.

I was still musing about my father when the door to my quarters slid open. I glanced at the door as Katniss slipped through and quickly shut the door behind her. One look at her face was all it took for me to know that something was seriously wrong.

"Hey," I said softly as I stood up and extended my arms towards Katniss.

Wordlessly, she stepped into my embrace, her arms slipping around my waist as she rested her head against my chest. Katniss was dressed in a simple District Thirteen coverall, which, right now, made her appear small and vulnerable. I held her close for a moment, my hands stroking her back, and waited for her to speak.

I didn't have to wait very long. "It's all my fault," she said softly, her voice quivering. "If I hadn't loaned my jacket to Prim –"

"I know," I murmured. "I heard about that today – that the mutt triggered on your scent."

Katniss laughed bitterly. "I've spent years protecting her, and, in the end, I'm the one that almost gets her killed!"

"Shhhh." I held her closer as her body began to wrack from her pent-up sobs. "There's no way you could have known. No way at all."

"I should have never let her go to Eight," Katniss said miserably. "She doesn't belong in the field."

"Prim is as stubborn as you are, Katniss," I pointed out gently. "There's no way that you would have been able to force her to stay here. She's not the skinny little twelve-year-old that you Volunteered for anymore."

"No," Katniss admitted, "she's not."

"She's smart, and strong, and she's going to be a doctor someday," I continued.

"How can I face her, Peeta?" Katniss turned her tear-stained face up to mine. "She'll find out eventually that it was my jacket that almost got her killed. How could she ever forgive me for that?"

"I'm sure she'll tell you that there's nothing to forgive," I said, hoping that I sounded reassuring.

"It won't matter," Katniss muttered as she buried her face in my chest again. "I won't ever be able to forgive myself."

I didn't reply as I pulled her closer to me. There was nothing I could do or say to convince Katniss that she had nothing to feel guilty for.

That was something that she would have to do on her own.

PART III

I ran into Boggs just outside the Command Conference Room. This was the first high-level conference held since Coin's shooting. I couldn't help but notice that Boggs was very conspicuously armed.

Boggs noticed me looking at the pistol hanging under his left arm. "I saw that refugee from Ten earlier – you know Dalton, right?" I nodded. "He said that me wearing this was akin to closing the barn door after the cows escaped."

"I can see his point," I said. "After all, what are the chances that there's another Henry Elliott running around in here?"

Boggs shrugged. "Before Henry shot Coin, I wouldn't have guessed that he was the mole. Truthfully, I had Zander pegged as our traitor. She's ambitious and more than a bit ruthless when it comes to her career. Now, if there is another mole, and I'm the target, then there's not a lot I can do if he – or she – wants to shoot me. That's why I'm wearing this." Boggs thumped his chest, and I grasped his meaning instantly. He was wearing body armor under his coverall.

"You wearing that pistol does make me wonder if you would have shot Henry," I mused.

Another shrug. "Possibly – no, probably," Boggs replied. "And we wouldn't have been able to interrogate him, and that would have put us behind the curve in determining how he was communicating with the Capitol, and for how long." He gestured towards the door. "Let's go on in. We have a lot to discuss."

I slid into the vacant seat between Katniss and Beetee as Boggs took over Coin's place at the head of the table. Katniss said nothing as I sat, but gave my hand a quick squeeze under the table. Beetee, on the other hand, merely grunted a greeting, totally preoccupied with an exotic-looking electronic device that rested on the table to his front.

"I'll keep this short," Boggs announced. "First item of business – Acting President. We need to put the matter to a vote."

"Why bother?" Haymitch drawled. "You've been doin' the job ever since Coin got shot."

"I've actually read some of the books you've suggested, Haymitch," Boggs replied dryly. "They have some interesting ideas – democracy, for example. The way I see it, if that's our model for a New Panem, then we ought to practice it here first."

"Let me get this straight," Haymitch said. "You want to run an election campaign…in the middle of a war?"

"I'm speaking of selecting an Acting President, to function on President Coin's behalf," Boggs explained. "And, before anyone says anything, Alma Coin is still alive. Therefore, she is the rightful President of District Thirteen as long as she lives."

"And if she dies?" Haymitch asked.

"If she dies," Boggs replied slowly, "we hold a district-wide election – as soon as the war is over."

"Why wait?" Haymitch challenged.

"A general election would be a distraction from the task at hand, Haymitch." Boggs was obviously irritated by Haymitch's questioning; still, he was able to control his voice admirably. "This war is far from over. Once the outcome is settled, and we have peace, we will hold a truly democratic election."

"And if we lose?" Haymitch smirked.

"If we lose, chances are that everyone in this room will be executed in very inventive, bloody ways." Boggs spoke in measured tones, choosing his words carefully. "So that point would be rather moot, don't you think?"

Haymitch's smirk turned into a wide grin. "In that case, I nominate Colonel Boggs as Acting President."

"There's a nomination on the floor," Boggs said. "Will anyone second the nomination?"

Several voices, mine included, shouted in the affirmative. "Are there any other nominations?"

The room fell silent. "In that case, I defer chairing this meeting to Haymitch Abernathy."

Surprised, Haymitch shook his head and threw up his hands. "Not me, Boggs," he said emphatically. "No way. This is your meeting,"

"It wouldn't be proper for me to chair a meeting during a vote to see if I am to be installed as Acting President," Boggs said reasonably as he sat down. "Haymitch, the floor is yours."

I stifled a grin of my own as Haymitch, grumbling under his breath, stood up. "Fine," he snapped. "All right. All those in favor of Boggs becoming Acting President, say aye."

A chorus of "ayes" filled the room. "All opposed?"

Silence. "Looks like the 'ayes' have it, Boggs," Haymitch said. "So, I'm turnin' this meeting back over to you."

"One moment." Boggs pointed to a box in the middle of the table. "I asked the department heads of each major department here in Thirteen for their input. In that box are their responses – all twenty-three of them. Haymitch, would you read the department head votes, please?"

Haymitch grumbled under his breath again, but reached out and pulled the box towards him. Opening the box, he withdrew twenty-three sealed envelopes. He tore them open, one by one, and read the name on the card that each envelope contained. Twenty-one cards were for Boggs.

"I guess that makes it official," Haymitch said. "Now can I turn this meeting back over to you?"

Boggs stood up. "Take your seat, Haymitch – and thank you." As Haymitch settled into his chair, Boggs said, "All right. First order of business. What do we do with the District Eight mutt-handler and Henry Elliott?"

"Why are we discussing this?" Major Silenus Festuca spoke for the first time. "Take 'em both Topside and execute them both."

Boggs shook his head. "I have another idea. We let them go."

That idea stunned everyone in the room. "You can't be serious," Katniss finally said, her voice shaking with anger as she jumped to her feet. "That son of a bitch almost killed my sister!"

"We take them both Topside and let them go," Boggs continued, as if he didn't hear Katniss. "We need to show Panem that our solution to every problem will not be to conduct an execution."

Katniss shook her head. "I can't believe I'm hearing this," she muttered. "One is a murderer. The other an assassin. And your solution is to let them go?"

"Technically, Henry is a would-be assassin," Plutarch pointed out. "As President Coin is still –"

"I don't care!" Katniss shouted. "Boggs, if you don't have the stomach for it, then I do. One arrow apiece is all I'll –"

"Soldier Everdeen," Boggs said icily. "Sit down and be silent."

Katniss stopped talking in mid-sentence, glared at Boggs for a moment, and finally sank into her chair. "I am in command here," Boggs continued firmly as Katniss sat down. "It's not a job I sought, but I accept the responsibility willingly. I don't want, nor do I expect, anyone here to address me as 'President.' I do, however, expect to be addressed as Colonel and shown the respect due to my rank and position. And I will not allow nor will I tolerate meetings of the senior staff to degenerate into shouting matches." He looked pointedly at Katniss as he said that last. "Is that clear?"

"Very clear," Katniss finally muttered, before adding a belated, "sir."

"In that case," Boggs said. "Let's move on – yes, Major?"

Major Zander stood up. "Respectfully, Colonel, I would like to make a point regarding the punishment for the District Eight attacker and Henry Elliott."

Boggs eyed her warily. "And your point is, Major?"

"I think I see what your intentions are with this unusual form of punishment," Zander continued. "Releasing these criminals into the wilds is, in effect, condemning both to death – although one will be dead from radiation poisoning soon enough anyway."

"Genius," murmured Plutarch. "From a propo standpoint, anyway. Banishment into the wilds will demonstrate that the authority in District Thirteen is willing to give even murderers and would-be murderers a fighting chance."

"Unless the plan backfires." Silenus Festuca spoke for the first time. "What happens if Elliott survives the banishment?"

"Henry Elliott has received only the most basic, rudimentary military training," Boggs explained. "Unless he was secretly practicing survival techniques on his own, his chances of lasting more than a few days are, at best, slim."

"When would this banishment take place?" Festuca asked.

"Tomorrow morning, at dawn," Boggs replied. He glanced around the room. "Unless anyone still has any objections." His eyes flickered over me and landed squarely on Katniss. "Soldier Everdeen?"

Katniss took a deep breath. "No. No, sir. I have no objection. I just have one request."

"What would that be?" Boggs asked.

"I would like to be included in the party that escorts them Topside," Katniss said. "I want that bastard to know that he missed his target. Let him spend his final days knowing that he failed."

I nodded slightly. The would-be assassin had never been told that Katniss wasn't among his victims. I was sure that seeing Katniss among the living would most likely shred was little was left of his sanity.

"You may go," Boggs said, "under one condition."

"Which is?" Katniss asked, belatedly adding, "sir?"

"You are not to be armed," Boggs said firmly. "And that means not so much as a pocket knife. I don't want you succumbing to temptation."

"Agreed," Katniss said with a nod. "Sir."

I hid a smile behind a hand raised to shield a phony cough. Katniss was learning – slowly but surely.

"Good," Boggs glanced at Jackson, who was sitting near the head of the table. "Lieutenant Jackson, you will oversee the transfer of the prisoners Topside. Make sure you coordinate with Soldier Everdeen."

"Yes, sir," Jackson replied succinctly.

"Mr. Heavensbee, I assume that you would like to have a camera crew on hand as well?" Boggs continued.

Plutarch nodded. "Indeed, I would."

"Coordinate with Lieutenant Jackson," Boggs instructed. "Now, to our next agenda item: Henry Elliott's communicator."

"That's my cue," Beetee murmured, so softly that I was just able to hear him. Raising his voice, he said, "Colonel, I must admit, I am impressed with the technology that went into creating this device."

The device that Beetee was referring to was sitting on the table to his front. "What have you learned?" Boggs asked.

"It's short-ranged," Beetee replied. "No more than ten kilometers. It would have to be low-powered, of course – otherwise routine electronic countermeasures would have detected it long ago. The trade-off there, of course, is range. Low-powered transmitters have a limited range."

"Yet, Henry Elliott was able to communicate with the Capitol." Boggs' comment was both a statement and a question.

"That's the genius behind this device," Beetee said. "This transmitter would locate a much stronger carrier wave and attach itself to that wave. It would then 'ride' that wave all the way to its intended recipient." Beetee picked up the device and cradled it almost lovingly in his hands. "I must admit that I'm more than a little jealous. The workmanship here is extraordinary."

"Are you trying to say that there was a carrier wave that originated, here, in Thirteen?" Jackson asked, unable to keep the astonishment out of her voice.

"Indeed, Lieutenant," Beetee replied. "In fact, that same carrier wave is currently transmitting."

"The Capitol link," Boggs muttered.

"Exactly," Beetee said with a nod. "This link was established over seventy-five years ago, in the waning days of the First Rebellion. Then, it was used to hammer out the uneasy truce that existed between Thirteen and the Capitol. Once the terms of the truce had been agreed upon, it remained open and was maintained if instantaneous communication was ever needed between Thirteen and the Capitol."

"And the device was low-powered," Jackson mused. "It would be difficult to detect, as we use so many low-powered, short-range transmitters here."

"Exactly," Beetee agreed.

"The very existence of this transmitter raises another question," Jackson pointed out. "How did Henry Elliott manage to obtain this device?"

Beetee shrugged. "I can't answer that. In fact, I think the only one that can is sitting in a cell on Level Thirty-Nine as we speak."

"We've asked him," Boggs added. "He claims that it was Topside, hidden inside a tree trunk. The clue was left in the form of a note left inside his quarters. He has no idea who left the note…just that it happened 'years' ago."

"Perhaps using a truth agent would jog his memory," Plutarch suggested.

"He gave us that information while under the influence of a truth agent," Boggs replied. "Look, these are questions that I would like answers to. Right now, we simply don't have the assets to investigate this matter thoroughly."

"Beetee, just how thoroughly have you tested this device?" Jackson asked.

"I've powered it up and performed some routine tests as to its range, and, of course, I discovered that it could latch onto a stronger carrier wave," Beetee explained. "But I haven't transmitted."

"As far as Snow and the Capitol are concerned," Boggs added, "Henry Elliott is still their mole. And we would like to keep them thinking that for a while."

"Snow will put two-and-two together once he learns that Coin is no longer communicating with the other Rebel districts," Haymitch pointed out.

"All he will know is that President Coin is incapacitated," Boggs explained. "He won't know why, or for how long."

Haymitch stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Are you intendin' on givin' Snow a call on that thing?"

Boggs nodded. "Eventually. Right now, however, we have other, more immediate matters to settle."

Haymitch's eyes narrowed in suspicion when he caught the glint in Boggs' eyes. "Such as?" he asked warily.

"Oh, don't be so dense, Haymitch!" Effie all but trilled. "The Colonel is talking about our wedding – isn't that right, Colonel?"

Boggs grinned. "Indeed, I am, Miss Trinket," he replied. "Mr. Heavensbee? Care to fill us in on the details?"

As Plutarch spoke, it became very apparent to me that I didn't have much time to bake that wedding cake.

PART IV

Weddings in District Twelve had always been simple affairs. The betrothed couple would sign a marriage contract in the Justice Building, where they would be assigned housing. Afterwards, the newlyweds would have a "toasting," usually witnessed by close friends and family, where they would each symbolically toast a piece of bread over a fire. The bride and groom would then feed the other with the bread they just toasted, sealing their commitment to each other. If they could afford it, the toasting ceremony would be followed by a party for their guests, complete with cake and possibly even dinner. It didn't matter where in Twelve you lived – Merchant and Seam both practiced the same ceremony.

I was surprised to learn that weddings in District Thirteen were very similar to District Twelve weddings, in that the couple would sign a marriage contract and would be assigned quarters. The similarities stopped there. There was no toasting, no party, and certainly no cake.

Plutarch Heavensbee changed all that.

I know that Plutarch was secretly disappointed that Katniss and I wouldn't cave to his subtle pressure for a triple wedding. He was, however, ecstatic at the idea of broadcasting the nuptials between Haymitch Abernathy and Effie Trinket. "The Capitol Girl and the Coal Miner," he called them – which, in Haymitch's case, was not entirely accurate. True, he had been Seam-born, but he had never worked a day of his life in the mines. Still, I understood what he was trying to do here. Plutarch wanted to show all Panem that love was possible between district-born and Capitol-born – and that would be important in a unified, post-war world.

President Alma Coin had grudgingly consented to allowing the unprecedented expenditure of assets to make this double wedding the media extravaganza that Plutarch wanted. Acting President Boggs asked Plutarch if he had all the assets that he needed to make this spectacle the success that Plutarch had assured him it would be. And that was the difference between Coin and Boggs – Coin had never ventured outside Thirteen, where Boggs had seen several different districts, and their people. Boggs had come to understand, as well as Plutarch himself, the necessity of winning the war of information.

However, the double wedding would not be the first, or even the second, official act presided over by Acting President Boggs. The first would be the banishment of Henry Elliott and the District Eight attacker. And my presence at this event was ordered by Boggs – as an official witness.

My breath hung in white clouds over my head as Katniss and I stood near the exit and waited for the prisoners and their escort to emerge. We weren't alone, of course – our security squad was keeping a watchful eye on our surroundings, and Messalla, along with Castor, Pollux, and Lavinia, was on-hand to record the banishment for posterity. And it was plain that everyone was as cold as Katniss and I were.

The temperature was well below freezing. I didn't see how either prisoner would survive even a single night in weather this cold. "Those two will both be dead by tomorrow morning, as cold as it is," I remarked to Katniss.

Katniss shrugged. "Tough shit."

"Maybe a firing squad would have been more…appropriate," I continued. "Or even hanging."

Katniss shook her head. "No. Let them both think about what they've done. Any other way is too quick." She shivered slightly and her small frame seemed to tuck itself even further into her parka. "Damn Jackson anyway," Katniss muttered. "Not letting me be part of the escort."

I knew why, and I said nothing. Jackson wanted to limit Katniss's contact with the District Eight attacker. Jackson felt, and with good reason, that Katniss wouldn't be able to resist taunting the man on the way Topside. And an agitated prisoner would be more difficult to move efficiently.

"What's the hold-up?" Katniss muttered. "They should've been out here by now."

"I don't know," I replied. I glanced over at Messalla. "Did you hear anything, Messalla?" I called out. "It's past dawn. They were supposed to be out here at dawn."

"I haven't heard anything," Messalla said. He glanced down at his commicuff. "Do you want me to call Plutarch?"

Before I could reply, there was the sound of a heavy bolt being thrown, followed by the squealing of the heavy blast door slowly swinging open on its hinges. Castor immediately turned his camera towards the door as Pollux focused on Katniss and myself. I felt Katniss stiffen slightly as figures began to emerge from the exit…first a pair of soldiers, followed by two men – both hobbled by shackles and chains, each under the direct escort of a soldier – and two more soldiers, with Lieutenant Jackson bringing up the rear.

"Easy," I whispered to Katniss. as the prisoners blinked rapidly in the bright sunlight, their eyes adjusting from the gloom that they had just emerged from. Unlike their escort, the two prisoners were clad only in standard District Thirteen coveralls. I could see both men begin to shiver as the cold penetrated the thin fabric.

The party shuffled forward until everyone was clear of the exit. As the door swung shut behind them, Jackson stopped and issued a single command. "Halt."

Katniss and I stepped forward. Katniss's attention was focused entirely on the District Eight attacker, who was now returning Katniss's stare uncomprehendingly, and a look of disbelief crept over his face.

"No," he croaked. "No. It can't be. You're dead. I killed you myself!"

Katniss stopped directly in front of the man. "You missed," she snarled. "I wanted you to know that, you slimy son-of-a-bitch!"

"No," the man whispered again. "NO!"

"You failed," Katniss continued mercilessly. "Snow knows you failed. You're no hero. Just another of Snow's failures."

The man looked stricken. He was dying from radiation poisoning – he was well aware of this fact – but seemed, up to now, to accept his impending death stoically. Perhaps, in his mind, he could see the monuments that President Coriolanus Snow would build to honor his memory. And now, Katniss had effectively destroyed that fantasy.

In contrast to the exchange taking place between Katniss and the District Eight attacker, Henry Elliott stood quietly, his eyes downcast, as he awaited his punishment. I caught Jackson's eye and motioned her over, even as Katniss unleashed a new torrent of taunts on the now-sobbing mutt-handler.

"Where's Boggs?" I whispered as Jackson stepped close.

"Something came up," Jackson murmured. "Coin died less than an hour ago. He was called away to the hospital." She held up a folder. "He signed the orders for both Henry and the mutt-handler, banishing them from District Thirteen, just before he went down to medical." Jackson looked me in the eye, her expression grim. "Peeta, not a word about Coin to anyone. Not even Katniss. Boggs is going to make an official announcement in an hour or so."

Coin was dead. The news had been more-or-less expected, of course, but it was still somewhat shocking to hear it delivered so bluntly. "I'm sorry," I said quietly, so only Jackson could hear. "She was your president for many years. This must be difficult."

"It's war," Jackson replied flatly. "And President Coin was a soldier. And in war, soldiers die." She took a deep breath, turned, and said loudly, "All right. Let's get on with this."

I pulled Katniss away from the District Eight attacker. To my surprise, she went willingly. It seemed to me that her tirade had drained her of the hate and anger that she had been bottling up. Together, we stood and listened as Jackson quickly read the banishment orders. Henry Elliott finally raised his head as Jackson announced his punishment, and the implication of what it entailed finally registered with him.

"Do either of you wish to say anything before sentence is carried out?" Jackson asked as she closed the folder.

"I failed," the mutt-handler sobbed miserably. He looked on the verge of collapse. It took two escorts to keep him upright.

"I have one request," Henry managed to croak in a hoarse voice. "Kill me. Right here and now. Please don't leave me out here to freeze to death or die of starvation."

"Request denied," Jackson replied brusquely. She turned to the escorts. "Unchain them."

The escorts quickly unshackled them, gathered up the chains, and then stepped back. When they were finished, Jackson pointed towards the forest, a couple hundred meters away. "Start walking," she ordered.

"No!" Henry pleaded. "You can't do this! I won't!"

Jackson shrugged. "Suit yourself." She beckoned for us to follow her. "Let's get back inside." To the escorts, she said, "Don't let them follow. If they try, stun them. But they both remain out here."

Quietly, we followed Jackson back into Thirteen. Hours later, I heard that a security detail went Topside, but both Henry and the mutt-handler were nowhere in sight.

Neither man was ever seen again.

PART V

President Alma Coin and Gloss from District One were given the first state funerals in the history of District Thirteen.

Boggs acted quickly. His announcement of President Coin's death also included the information that the state funeral for her, and for Gloss, would be conducted the very next day. The North Hangar was emptied for that very purpose, and the bodies of both Coin and Gloss were placed in makeshift coffins – actually, they had started out as crates for missiles that were mounted on hovercraft – and both coffins lay in state in the hanger until the memorial service.

Boggs had wanted to do the service that same day, but Plutarch had convinced him to wait, so that it could not only be broadcast throughout District Thirteen, but recorded by Messalla and his camera team at the same time. I had to admit that Plutarch had a good idea. Broadcasting the funeral in Capitol-friendly districts, such as One and Two, showing Gloss being honored for his service to the Rebellion, could very well have a positive effect on those districts and swing more of their residents to the Rebel cause.

The service itself was simple. The hangar was packed as Boggs said a few words about both Coin and Gloss, stressing their selfless service to the cause of freedom for all Panem. I'm sure Plutarch wrote the speech, with a generous helping of Effie Trinket sprinkled in. Nonetheless, Boggs delivered it masterfully, and, true to his (and Plutarch's) word, the service took less than fifteen minutes from start to finish. Even Katniss was moved by the ceremony.

Afterwards, Coin was taken to the incinerators. According to Boggs, it was what she wanted. Gloss was buried in a makeshift cemetery, next to Cressida's grave. Several of us took turns hacking out his grave in the frozen earth, including Gloss's sister, Cashmere. There was no lacking for volunteers to help dig, but Katniss announced that Gloss's grave would be dug entirely by other Victors.

"Gloss survived something that only another Victor can truly understand," she had said at the outset. "It's only right that he's laid to rest by other Victors."

It was hard work, with the seven of us – myself, Katniss, Haymitch, Johanna, Cashmere, Finnick, and even frail Annie Cresta – digging, but, like Katniss said, it was only right. Enobaria, still recovering from her blast wounds, was the only Victor that didn't have a hand in digging Gloss's grave. Of course, Plutarch made sure that Gloss's internment was well documented.

Once we were done, we made our way back into District Thirteen – tired, dirty, and dispirited. In the past two days I had been witness to a banishment, and attended my first state funeral. To say that I was in a somber mood was an understatement. And, judging from Katniss's grim expression, she fully shared my mood.

As we walked back to the entrance, I was surprised to feel an arm drape around my shoulder. I glanced to one side to see Cashmere walking between Katniss and I, her other arm draped around Katniss's shoulders. "I just wanted to say thanks to you both," Cashmere murmured as we walked. "You two are okay in my book."

With that, Cashmere dropped her arms and hurried ahead, as if somehow embarrassed by her display of gratitude. Katniss looked at me in confusion, as I sidled next to her and my arm slipped around her shoulders. "What was that all about?" she asked softly.

"Maybe," I replied slowly, "maybe it means that there's hope for us all, after this war is over, anyway."

PART VI

The dual wedding was a resounding success.

Dalton, the refugee from District Ten, ended up presiding over the ceremony. As it turned out, the wedding ceremonies for Districts Four and Ten are very similar, and, as we couldn't really do a proper toasting – open flame was prohibited in quarters here in District Thirteen – Haymitch and Effie had simply opted to allow Dalton to marry them, as well. And it worked out just fine.

Everyone was more than ready to have a reason to celebrate. Once the fishing net had been draped over Finnick and Annie's shoulders, and once Haymitch had slipped a simple gold band around Effie's finger (which, according to her, was the way weddings were done in the Capitol), it was time to party. And party we did!

The cake was a hit. I know the residents of District Thirteen were unaccustomed to sweets, and I noticed more than a few people making a sudden rush for the bathrooms…but these same people helped themselves to a second, and usually smaller, piece. Haymitch and Effie were a hit as well – somehow, they had both managed to hang onto the clothing that they were wearing on the Reaping Day Uprising – and were resplendent in their finery. However, close examination of Haymitch's suit and Effie's dress revealed numerous places where the fabric had been ripped and torn, only to be repaired by Effie's nimble fingers.

Perhaps the most surprising was the appearance of Prim Everdeen, accompanied by Rory Hawthorne, as well as Andromeda Snow, who was escorted by July Barrow. Prim was moving slowly, but Rory was a solicitous partner, and made sure that there was always a chair nearby if she got tired. Andromeda and July were another story, as July was still moving carefully as a result of his still-healing wounds. It was a pleasant surprise to see Andromeda and July together. Andromeda and Prim both showed the emotional effects of their recent ordeal, but July and Rory never left their sides.

There were a few notable absences as well. Sperantia Blackstone was still bedridden, as was Enobaria. I made a mental note to drop by the hospital to visit Sperantia first thing tomorrow. I felt bad for her…unlike Enobaria, who had Jackson to keep her company, Sperantia was all alone.

We even had music to dance to. A few people from District Twelve had somehow managed to rescue fiddles, pipes, and harmonicas from their homes before they evacuated, and were putting their instruments to good use. Soon the floor was filled with dancing couples, and I even managed to coax Katniss onto the floor for a quick turn.

It was during one of these dances that I noticed Katniss's face cloud up as she watched the other couples. I soon discovered the source of her displeasure – Prim and Rory, dancing close, their arms wrapped tightly around each other.

"She's too young for that," Katniss muttered as she tried to disengage herself from me. "Peeta, let me go!"

"No," I said firmly. "Leave them be, Katniss. Let them have a little fun. They deserve it."

"I said she's too young!" Katniss insisted. "Look at them…they're dancing way too close."

"Your mother doesn't seem to think so," I pointed out. I nodded my head in Mrs. Everdeen's direction, where she was dancing with one of the doctors from the hospital, and smiling fondly at her youngest daughter.

"I'm still gonna talk to them both," Katniss groused, although she stopped struggling to free herself from my embrace.

"No, you're not," I said firmly. "Rory is a soldier, wounded in action. Not too long ago, Prim was treating radiation victims. Look, they may only be fourteen, but they've both seen…and done…a hell of a lot."

I was spared further argument by Plutarch's sudden appearance. "Katniss," he said with a smile. "And Peeta! Wonderful party, don't you think?"

"I think everyone needed this," I replied. "Don't you think so, Katniss?"

"Yes," Katniss muttered darkly.

Plutarch looked at Katniss sharply. I shook my head slightly. He got the hint and refrained from asking Katniss what was bothering her. What he did say was, "I would like to get together with you first thing tomorrow, Peeta. We need to get 'The Peeta Show' up and running."

"What's 'The Peeta Show?'" Katniss asked.

"I'll explain later," I promised. To Plutarch, I said, "Okay. I have to stop at the hospital first, though."

Plutarch nodded. "Fair enough. Nine o'clock work for you?"

"Sure," I replied. "See you then."

Plutarch moved away quickly, having spotted Boggs in the crowd. "Okay, explain," Katniss insisted. "What's 'The Peeta Show?'"

I quickly outlined Plutarch and Fulvia's idea. "No more field propos," I added at the finish. "Everything's done right here."

"Who are you planning on interviewing first?" Katniss asked. "Not me, I hope."

"I had someone else in mind," I said with a smile, nodding my head at Andromeda Snow. "Come on," I added, grabbing Katniss by her hand. "Let's go see what she has to say about it."

We began to make our way through the crowd to the table where Andromeda and July sat, when we were intercepted by a man in a wheelchair. So focused and intent was the wheelchair-bound figure that Katniss had to nimbly dance out of his way to avoid getting run down.

"Excuse – oh, I'm sorry, Katniss," Beetee Latier said breathlessly. He nodded at me curtly. "Peeta. Have you seen Boggs?"

"He's over there somewhere," I replied, waving my hand in the general direction that Plutarch had taken off in. "What's the matter? Not enjoying the party?"

"I'm not much for social functions," Beetee replied curtly. "I was down in my shop, examining the receiver/transmitter that we found in Henry's quarters, and –"

I could tell that something was really bothering Beetee. I squatted next to his chair as best as my prosthetic leg would allow and looked him in the eye. "What's going on?" I asked softly.

Beetee hesitated for a moment as Katniss squatted next to me. "Beetee?" she added. "Is everything all right?"

Beetee glanced at Katniss, then at me. "The receiver activated tonight," he finally said. "Just a short while ago."

I shrugged. "You've turned it on before."

Beetee shook his head. "You don't understand," he said urgently. "It activated itself. Someone is sending a message to the receiver."

My eyes widened slightly. "You mean –"

"Yes," Beetee said. "Someone in the Capitol is attempting to contact Henry."