CHAPTER 26

PART I

I stood behind the hovercraft cockpit, staring out the windshield at the flat, nearly featureless terrain below. Ever since we had left District Thirteen, I had been unable to sit for more than a few minutes at a time – filled with a nervous energy that was so reminiscent of the butterflies that I had felt when I took my hovercraft ride to the clock arena for the Third Quarter Quell. Of course, this was different. Then, I was a scared (I can admit it now) Tribute, about to be launched into a literal fight for my very life. Now, I'm a member of the official delegation enroute to the Capitol to accept their official cease-fire and surrender. And that's what confused me. I should feel pride, elation, and be brimming with confidence. The Rebellion succeeded, the Capitol had been defeated, and the war was over.

I felt pride, elation – and fear. Unfortunately, the fear was the strongest of the three. And, forget confidence. The only thing I was confident of was that I was probably going to throw up the second we touched down in the Capitol.

The pilot, who had been leaning back in her chair sipping a cup of coffee, glanced over her shoulder and smiled at me. "We're over District Ten now," she said as she sat up. "District Seven is coming up. Look there," she continued as she pointed at a ragged line of white on the horizon. "Those mountains there – that's the western border of District Seven. And on the other side of those mountains is the Capitol."

"How – how long?" I managed to croak.

The pilot shrugged. "We're fighting a bit of a headwind. An hour, maybe."

I gulped, nodded, muttered my thanks, turned, and lurched my way towards the rear of the hovercraft, where the one bathroom was located. I clapped one hand over my mouth as the explosion built deep inside me, and I knew that I was not going to make it, when a firm hand grasped my shoulder and a white, plastic-lined bag was thrust into my hands.

My benefactor had come to my aid at just the right time. I barely managed to open the bag and place it over my mouth before my tortured stomach heaved.

It was a good thing that I hadn't had much appetite the last few days – otherwise, I probably would have needed more than one bag. The hand never left my shoulder as I puked loudly into the bag until, finally, I was able to shakily raise my head and wipe my mouth on my shirt sleeve.

"Thanks," I muttered hoarsely as I turned to face my savior.

"Don't mention it, kid," Haymitch Abernathy replied as he took the used bag from my hand and twisted it closed. Haymitch then peered intently at my face. "You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah," I said. I glanced around until I spotted Katniss, sound asleep in her seat. "Listen, Haymitch – don't say anything to Katniss, okay?"

Haymitch shrugged. "If you say so, kid. But I somehow doubt she'd think any less of you for getting airsick."

"I'm not –" I began to protest before I stopped myself. "Yeah," I continued. "That's it. Airsick. I feel better now."

Haymitch's mouth twitched up in a crooked grin and he gave me a quick wink. "Good. Go rinse your mouth out, but don't drink any water just yet. You don't wanna risk it coming back up."

I nodded. "Okay." Haymitch nodded, let go of my shoulder, and turned to make his way back to his seat. "Haymitch?" I called out after him.

He turned and gazed back at me, one eyebrow raised, his expression questioning. "Thanks again."

"See you on the ground, kid," Haymitch said after a moment and turned away.

I watched him settle in next to Effie, and quickly reflected on how lucky I had been to have Haymitch Abernathy as both a Mentor, as well as a friend.

As we approached the border between District Seven and the terrain under direct Capitol influence, the pilot pointed out the front lines of dug-in Rebel forces that snaked over the foothills. These forces, consisting mostly of District Seven soldiers, had hunkered down for the winter, awaiting a spring offensive that now would never come. Later, there had been a few anxious moments as we flew past the Capitol's air defense ring, but the flight crew assured us that the missile-guidance radar was quiet.

Looks like that's a point in Minister Blackstone's favor, I said to myself. He assured us that the air defense network would be deactivated, and it was.

After we cleared the mountains we began to descend towards the Capitol. I thought back to my first glimpse of this magnificent, decadent city from the windows of the Tribute train. Was it really less than two years ago? It feels like a lifetime. I shook my head slightly in disbelief. So much had happened – so many had died. I still couldn't quite believe that it was truly all over.

As we descended, I noticed that there seemed to be an unusual amount of traffic on the roads out of the Capitol that led to Districts One and Two. I also noticed that a lot of this traffic was not by vehicle of any sort. Despite my continued uneasiness at being in such proximity to the Capitol, I found myself leaning forward to get a better look.

I wasn't the only one. "Where are all those people going?" Katniss asked softly. I hadn't even heard her walk up.

The pilot shrugged. "Who knows?" she replied.

"I know," a voice behind me said. I turned to see Plutarch Heavensbee, accompanied by Acting-President Boggs, make his way up towards the cockpit. "They're refugees. Capitol refugees."

"I don't get it," I said, confused. "Capitolites are fleeing the Capitol? What are they running from?"

Heavensbee smiled crookedly. "Us. They're running from us. They hope to find refuge in Districts One and Two." His smile faded, replaced by a skeptical look. "They may get help in One – Two, however, is a really iffy proposition."

"They're running from us?" Katniss asked in amazement. "They've never been bombed or shelled. Why would they run?"

"Propaganda," Heavensbee explained. "Ever since Blackstone's announcement, the local airwaves have been flooded with doomsday broadcasts. Those people down there" – he gestured out the windshield – "have been fed so much misinformation that they truly think that the Rebels are coming to kill them all – or worse."

"We've been broadcasting our own messages," Boggs added. "We are doing everything we can do to keep people calm, but, as you can see, we haven't been entirely successful."

"So, what are these 'anti-propos' saying about us?" I asked.

"Well, let's see," Heavensbee said thoughtfully. "We're going to execute all military-age males. We're going to randomly execute one Capitol citizen in ten. Forced sterilization of all Capitol females of child-bearing age. But most seem to be some variant of the Rebellion re-instituting the Hunger Games, and Reaping Capitol children between the ages of twelve and eighteen."

That last rumor was not a surprise. I had heard, more than once, the suggestion that a final, symbolic Hunger Games, featuring the children, or grandchildren, of officials of Snow's government to be sent into the arena to die for the amusement of the Districts that had suffered for so many years. This suggestion seemed to enjoy wide support among the soldiers of District Thirteen – who, of course, never had to send any of their children to fight and die in the Games.

My revulsion at the idea must have showed on my face, because Boggs hastily added, "None of these punitive measures will actually be carried out, of course. While we do intend to arrest those at the highest levels of government for perpetuating decades of cruelty and oppression, they will all be treated justly and given a fair trial."

"Why?" Katniss asked suddenly. "Why waste time when we know who is responsible? Find them, arrest them, and execute them. We know what the outcome of these trials will be anyway."

"Katniss," Boggs said patiently, "there are over a million and a half people in the Capitol. If we start treating them the way the propagandists say we will, there will be wide-spread panic. There could even be an anti-rebellion. That would defeat our goal of taking the Capitol intact. If we can show mercy, even benevolence, we will have a peaceful population to deal with. They may even help us in locating and arresting people like Cassius Hammersmith and Seneca Crane. These are a conquered people. We need to win their hearts and minds by treating them fairly." He paused for a moment. "That's why I've ordered that the Rebellion begin sending shipments of food, clothing, and medical aide to the Capitol, beginning in the next few days."

"What do the other District Commanders have to say about that?" I asked.

"Pullman and Beck were very – reluctant – to sign on to the relief plan," Boggs replied. That was no surprise. Commander Pullman, in District Six, and General Beck, in District Ten, were the two District Commanders that Boggs – and Alma Coin, before Boggs - historically had the most trouble keeping under control and focused on the goal of a unified Rebellion defeating the Capitol. And it didn't help matters much that Pullman's District Six controlled transportation, while Beck's District Ten provided much of the food for the on-going Rebel effort.

"Commander Pullman and General Beck will be included in the official surrender ceremony," Plutarch Heavensbee added. "It was my idea to throw them that bone. And, they seemed satisfied that they will get their opportunity to gloat."

I felt the hovercraft dip slightly as we continued to descend, and we slowly orbited the Capitol as we approached City Circle. The wide Avenue of Tributes had been designated as our landing area. Without the bleachers that were present during every Hunger Games Tribute Parade, and with all foot and vehicular traffic blocked off by Peacekeepers loyal to Minister and Blackstone, the avenue was perfect, with enough room to land several hovercraft – not to mention the proximity to the Presidential Palace. Once again, I felt my stomach tighten, and was glad that I had nothing left to throw up. At least I wouldn't embarrass myself – I hoped.

"Take your seats, ladies and gentlemen," the pilot ordered. We all moved immediately to comply. I smiled a bit as I watched Boggs quickly strap himself in. He may be Acting President of District Thirteen, but in the hovercraft the pilot was in unquestioned command – especially since she was prepared to conduct some violent evasive maneuvers if our landing area suddenly turned "hot."

No one really thought that we would be ambushed during landing – our hovercraft was the second of three that would be landing in tandem on the Avenue of Tributes, plus there were three more heavily armed gunships overhead, orbiting the landing zone, ready to engage any perceived threat on the ground. Fortunately for us, and for any would-be attackers, our landing was both peaceful and uneventful, and our hovercraft settled gently onto its landing struts. Still, we remained in our seats as the pilot shut down the engines. In the sudden quiet, we could hear sounds from outside the hovercraft as soldiers from the other two hovercraft formed a quick perimeter around us.

Boggs had one hand pressed to his earpiece, his brow furrowed in concentration, and then he looked up and nodded. There was a slight pneumatic hiss as the hovercraft ramp was lowered and Boggs unbuckled his safety strap and rose to his feet. "All right, folks," he said, quietly but firmly, "let's go meet our hosts."

I glanced over at Katniss and gave her a quick, reassuring smile as I unbuckled myself. My anxiety seemed to melt away, replaced by an almost fatalistic calm. We're here, and we're alive. Soon, if all goes well, the war will be over. I stood and adjusted my uniform. It was similar in style to my original "propo" coverall but tailored to fit me snugly. Twin bandoleers crisscrossed my chest, both bristling with throwing knives. And, tucked into the "X" where the bandoleers crossed, was a slingshot, identical to the one that I had used in my Games.

It was Plutarch Heavensbee's idea, of course. The surviving Rebel Victors, except for Haymitch, Beetee, and Annie, would make their first appearance in the defeated Capitol brandishing the weapons that originally had made them famous. Katniss, of course, was decked out in full Mockingjay regalia, complete with her custom black bow and full quiver of arrows. Cashmere had a sword strapped to her hip. Finnick carried his signature trident. Johanna hoisted her ax. Enobaria had her teeth and carried a wicked looking spear. It was purely symbolic, of course, and was meant purely for show.

We all thought we looked ridiculous.

Boggs had promised us that we could all change into more appropriate clothing once we were in the Presidential Palace. As we made our way towards the rear of the hovercraft, and the open ramp, I could see Messalla and his crew set up to film us descending the ramp onto City Circle, and I wondered for the tenth time just how Heavensbee had managed to convince Boggs to have us wear these outlandish outfits for what Haymitch had called "Some stupid fuckin' dog an' pony show."

Katniss and I paused at the top of the ramp for dramatic effect, and I took the time to lean forward and say to her, very quietly, "It's showtime!"

Katniss shot me a withering look as we both descended the ramp and stepped onto the Avenue of Tributes.

PART II

General Lucius Beck was as unpleasant as I remembered him from our first meeting – although now, he sported a crude prosthetic where his left hand had once been. Beck may have been arrogant and pompous, but he was no coward, and believed in both leading by example and leading from the front.

Commander Pullman, on the other hand, was completely unimpressive at first meeting. A thin, sallow woman, her face pocked with acne scars, she didn't seem to be the type to be able to rally the workers of District Six into meeting Capitol-imposed quotas, much less inspire soldiers to fight and die – until she spoke. She spoke in a quiet, no-nonsense manner, never raising her voice, but she had what Boggs later identified as "command presence." Later, he confessed to Katniss and me that it was all he could do to not snap to attention, salute, and call her "ma'am." In a way, she reminded me a lot of Commander Paylor from District Eight. A true, born leader in every sense of the word.

General Beck, of course, was impatient. "Where's the Capitol delegation, Boggs?" he demanded.

"They should be along in a moment," Boggs replied, bristling slightly at Beck's omission of either the title of "President" or "Colonel." It wasn't lost on me that Boggs deliberately failed to address Beck as "General."

"They did acknowledge our arrival, Colonel?" Commander Pullman asked Boggs.

"Yes, Commander," Boggs said respectfully, and then pointed. "That must be the welcoming committee now."

I followed Boggs' pointing finger. A trio of uniformed Peacekeepers had been stopped near the first hovercraft by our security detachment. I could tell even from the distance that separated us that these Peacekeepers were unarmed, and bareheaded – a fact that was not lost on Haymitch Abernathy.

"Ballsy move," he muttered, reluctant admiration in his voice. "All they're missin' is a white flag."

"Their uniforms are white," Katniss pointed out, obviously confused. "Why would they need to carry a white flag also?"

Haymitch snorted and shook his head. "When things settle down," he said, "we definitely need to work on the quality of education in this country."

I chuckled softly to myself. I couldn't fault Katniss for not knowing the significance of a white flag – after all, the Peacekeepers that we had been battling rarely, if ever, surrendered. But there was something to Haymitch's off-the-cuff statement – it would be a welcome change to be able to attend school just for the sake of learning new things, instead of learning only about your district's main industry.

"Guess we shouldn't keep our hosts waiting," Boggs announced. He glanced back at his cadre of Victor Rebels, and then at General Peck and Commander Pullman. "Let's go introduce ourselves."

With that, Boggs led our delegation towards the trio of Peacekeepers. Messalla shadowed our every move, wordlessly directing Castor and Pollux, his two camera operators, so that they would get the best possible shots of this historic first meeting between the Loyalist government and key members of the Rebellion. As we approached our security perimeter, Boggs slowed his pace, spoke softly into his commicuff, and finally stopped as our security perimeter parted, and the three Peacekeepers were waved towards our delegation.

I could sense Katniss tensing as we approached the Peacekeepers. I couldn't say that I blamed her. I was feeling a bit on edge myself. As we drew nearer, I could see that the delegation was headed by an older Peacekeeper, wearing the rank of a Peacekeeper Commander, and I confirmed my earlier observation that none of the three were armed. The trio of Peacekeepers approached to within a few steps of our group before they stopped. Taking their cue, Boggs stopped as well, and raised his right hand in a "halt" gesture.

Once we stopped, the Commander walked towards Boggs until he was about an arms-length away. "President Boggs?" he asked.

Boggs inclined his head slightly. "I'm Boggs," he replied.

I felt a presence near my right elbow and quickly glanced over. Johanna had sidled up next to me, her eyes wide with both horror and recognition. "Son-of-a-bitch," she muttered. "I know him! He was the fucker in charge of our prison! His name is –"

"I'm Servius, President Boggs," the Commander said with a slight incline of his head. "Commander Servius of the Corps of Peacekeepers. Minister Blackstone asked that I meet you and your delegation." His gaze shifted slightly. "Johanna Mason. You look well."

"No thanks to you, motherfucker!" Johanna spat.

Boggs turned and fixed Johanna with a steady gaze. "I take it that you and the Commander are acquainted?" he asked calmly, even as Cashmere and Enobaria began to mutter angrily.

"He's the commander of the prison that we were all held in!" Johanna all but growled.

"That's true," Servius acknowledged calmly. "I was. President Boggs, I shall not resist if you decide to place me into custody."

Boggs turned back and regarded Servius with interest. Finally, he said, "Commander, quite frankly I expected that someone in your position would be trying to flee the city or go into hiding. Surely you must have realized that the Peacekeeper that commanded the prison garrison would be subject to arrest by the Rebellion?"

Servius inclined his head slightly. "I did realize that, sir."

"And yet," Boggs continued thoughtfully, "here you are, sent to meet us on behalf of Minister Blackstone. To me, that would indicate that you actively support his coup."

"I do, sir," Servius replied.

"Commander," Boggs said formally, "at this time I am not going to place you in custody of the Rebellion. However, you will be required to answer to charges, brought forth by competent tribunal, at a later date. Your involvement in the coup will be considered against the seriousness of the charges that you may face. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Servius said firmly.

"Wait a minute!" Boggs turned once more to face a now-outraged Johanna Mason. "That's it?" she practically shouted. "This fucker –"

"That's enough," Boggs said quietly. To my surprise – and everyone else's, I'm sure – Johanna shut up immediately. Boggs never raised his voice, but there was no mistaking the steel glint in his eye. "Soldier Mason – and this goes for everyone else here – if you can't control yourselves, you will be removed from this delegation. Do I make myself clear?"

He was staring straight at Johanna as he said that last. "Yes," Johanna finally said sullenly. "Sir."

Boggs nodded once and then turned back to face Servius. "Let's go meet Minister Blackstone, Commander."

As we walked towards the Presidential Palace, I thought about what had just happened between Johanna and Servius, the Peacekeeper officer. Part of me wanted to feel outrage, just as Johanna did – even though I had never met, nor seen, the prison commander. But, another part of me wondered why someone in his position would willingly join a coup, knowing that no matter what the outcome, the chances were very good that he would face imprisonment – or execution. I decided that Boggs handled the situation as well as anyone could, under the circumstances. He was honest with the Peacekeeper, and, at the same time, made it clear that anyone in this delegation that couldn't control themselves would be dismissed.

Coin would have probably ordered Servius shot where he stood, I said to myself as we walked. And, judging from Katniss's sour expression, she would have gladly been the one to put an arrow through his heart.

PART III

We were ushered into a large room, dominated by a circular table. Two men sat at the table. When we entered the room both men stood respectfully and waited quietly until we were all inside. As we filed in, I noticed that the shorter of the two men was wearing the uniform of a Peacekeeper officer. It was the most ornate that I had ever seen. The taller of the two men was in a rather plain suit, unlike the garishly colored clothing favored by most Capitolites. I recognized him immediately from the "war is over" broadcast.

It was Quintus Blackstone, Panem's Minister of Security, and leader of the coup that toppled the Snow regime.

By some unspoken arrangement, Boggs, flanked to his immediate left and right by Commander Pullman and General Beck, chose the seat at the circular table directly across from Minister Blackstone. The Victor Rebels split up, with half of us on either side of Pullman or Beck. Katniss and I quickly moved to be seated on Pullman's side, earning us a dirty look from Johanna, who ended up on Beck's side – but, in turn, was saved from having to sit next to the General by Finnick Odair, who took that seat with a smile and a nod at General Beck.

Once we were all standing at the table, Commander Servius announced, "Minister Blackstone, may I present President Boggs of District Thirteen."

Blackstone examined us for a moment before speaking. Finally, he asked, "Which of you is President Boggs?"

There were a couple of muffled chuckles from our side of the table, and I remember that all communication between Boggs and Blackstone had been voice only. "I'm Boggs, Minister," Boggs announced, as he cast a withering glance to his left and right, silencing the chucklers.

Blackstone stepped back from his chair and moved to a spot where the table opened. The table was circular but constructed like a letter "O" in that the center was empty space. I later learned that Coriolanus Snow conducted official state dinners and other functions in this room, and the two openings in the table were to allow servants to perform their tasks more efficiently. Now, Blackstone entered the center of the table, walked to where Boggs was standing, and offered his hand.

"Mr. President," he said formally, "thank you for coming."

After a moment's hesitation, Boggs took Blackstone's hand and shook it firmly. "Minister, it's not every day that two warring factions can stop tearing at each other's throats."

Boggs quickly introduced Blackstone to the rest of the Rebel Delegation. Some, like Johanna, Cashmere, and Enobaria, simply nodded their heads when introduced. After a couple of awkward moments, Blackstone stopped offering his hand first, choosing instead to see if a hand would be offered to him. As for me, I chose to shake his hand. I had a personal message to deliver to him.

"Victor Peeta Mellark," Boggs announced. "Of District Twelve."

"We've met, Mr. Mellark," Blackstone said as we shook hands. "At the reception here during your Victory Tour."

I noticed at that time that Blackstone did, indeed, sport a small bit of Capitol fashion indicia. His naturally dark hair was shot through with muted lavender highlights. I learned much later that Blackstone added this color only to cover his graying hair. "I have a message for you, Minister," I said. "Sperantia wanted me to tell you that she was well and that she misses both you and her mother."

"You've spoken with her?" Blackstone asked softly.

"I have," I replied.

"We will have her brought here soon, Minister," Boggs explained. "Along with Andromeda Snow."

Blackstone nodded slowly. "Thank you," he said softly.

Blackstone returned to his place a few minutes later. I was happy to see that Katniss shook his hand instead of just nodding. Although, from her expression, I could tell that she did it for me. No matter. She did it, and that was enough for me.

"This is Praetor Antonius," Blackstone announced, introducing the uniformed man that stood next to him. "He also holds the rank of General and the title of Deputy Security Minister. He also has another, unofficial title – architect of our coup. Without him, we would not be here today. Please be seated."

"I'm confused, Minister," Boggs said, after we sat. "I thought you were in charge of the coup."

"The Minister is in charge," Praetor Antonius replied. "I'm just a simple old soldier, carrying out his orders."

"Is that what you called nuking District Eight?" General Beck asked bitterly. "'Carrying out orders?'"

Antonius gazed intently at Beck. "Minister Blackstone and I share in the responsibility of that attack," he said evenly. "Just as we share responsibility for all other aggressive acts taken against the districts during the Rebellion. Can you say the same, General Beck? Will you accept responsibility for District Ten soldiers executing Peacekeepers that they took prisoner?"

I was now doubly glad that I wasn't seated anywhere near Beck. Fortunately, Boggs stopped the general before he had a chance to explode. "We are here to hash out a formal cease-fire agreement, and to discuss the final surrender of the Capitol," Boggs said icily. "We are not here to point fingers and make war-crime accusations against either side. Not now! Am I understood on this point?"

"You are, Mr. President," Blackstone replied. Antonius said nothing but nodded his assent. Beck merely grunted and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Good," Boggs said after a moment. "Now, before we begin the formal proceedings regarding the cease-fire, do you, Minister, or you, Praetor, have any questions or concerns?"

"Just one," Blackstone said. "What are your terms for our surrender?"

"The Capitol," Boggs said slowly, and deliberately, "is to surrender to the Rebellion unconditionally."

Blackstone glanced at Antonius, who nodded once, and then faced Boggs once more and uttered a single word.

"Unacceptable."

Seneca Crane could scarcely believe his good fortune.

The Capitol had been in a state of muted chaos for days. Ever since those traitors Blackstone and Antonius had seized power, Capitol citizens had been in panicked flight, streaming out of the city towards the imagined sanctuary of Districts One and Two. At first it was the most prominent citizens – high-ranking government officials, the wealthiest of the wealthy, Peacekeepers that had refused to join the coup, and even some of Crane's own Gamemakers – that fled. But now, fueled by rampant rumors that Rebel soldiers were going to conduct indiscriminate mass executions of random Capitol citizens, more and more people were joining the exodus, until the roads were barely passable.

Crane knew that their imagined sanctuary was futile. Even hardcore Loyalist districts like One and Two would eventually bow to pressure and succumb to the Rebellion. Indeed, District Two had shown signs for quite some time of swinging to the side of the Rebels. No, there would be no safety anywhere in Panem for any Capitol citizen that didn't submit to the Rebellion's tender mercies.

Instead, Crane had gone into hiding. He anticipated – correctly – that the traitors Blackstone and Antonius would make his capture a priority. However, Seneca Crane had not been born yesterday. You didn't rise to a position as prestigious as Head Gamemaker – a position that some compared to being one of Coriolanus Snow's Ministers – without learning a few handy survival tips along the way.

The apartment that Crane had retreated to was one that he had owned since his days as a Journeyman Gamemaker. At first, it had been handy as a place for him to indulge in a few of his less socially acceptable sexual fetishes. It was in a neighborhood known as Gatestown – an area populated mostly by workers from Districts Three and Five, that had been imported for their technical prowess. These people, if they had families with children, could bring these families with them while they lived and worked in the Capitol – and, as such, their children were exempt from Reapings while their parents worked in the Capitol. This made for neighbors that avoided trouble at all costs and, more importantly, minded their own business.

Now, of course, most of these neighbors were gone – all eagerly awaiting the arrival of Rebel soldiers. There were a few holdouts, mostly old-timers that were too set in their ways to change. It wasn't an optimum solution for Seneca Crane – there were few crowds for him to blend into in Gatestown now – but it was as close to a safe house as he could make it, and, once he shaved off his distinctive beard and moustache, he truly looked like a different man.

Crane may have been able to remain in hiding almost indefinitely – but, like many Capitolites, he was prideful, and full of hate for the Rebellion and the upstart districts that had caused his world to come crashing down around him. He was going to strike back, in the only way that he could.

Seneca Crane was going to preside over a final Hunger Games.

The pods that Coriolanus Snow had ordered placed throughout the Capitol had been deactivated by order of the traitor Blackstone. Crane had personally approved the location and type of each of these deadly traps. If they were reactivated, they would turn the Capitol into a massive killing field. The controls for the pods were in the Gamemakers Control Center. The Center was guarded, of course, by Peacekeepers loyal to Blackstone – but Seneca Crane would not be worthy of the title Head Gamemaker if he didn't know how to enter and exit the Center through passageways and entrances known only to him.

Now, Crane found himself alone in the Control Center, biding his time for the right moment to reactivate the pods and finally preside over the Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games. There were enough stores of food and water on site to last him for days. Seneca Crane would not meekly surrender. As the lights flickered on and a three-dimensional holographic map of the Capitol appeared where before only virtual reality images of Games Arenas were displayed, Crane smiled to himself in satisfaction.

This would be the greatest Games in history.

PART IV

We all stared at Minister Blackstone in disbelief for several long seconds. Boggs finally broke the silence. "Minister, I don't think you are in a position to demand conditions for your surrender."

"Unconditional surrender is unacceptable. Our terms are quite reasonable," Blackstone replied calmly.

"In your opinion," Johanna muttered darkly.

"Please, let me finish," Blackstone pleaded.

Boggs glared at Johanna for a moment before turning his attention back to Blackstone. "Go ahead, Minister," he said.

"I ask for amnesty for all persons involved in the planning and execution of the coup," Blackstone replied. "That's it."

"As you yourself admitted, you bear a great deal of the responsibility for waging war against the districts," Boggs pointed out, as an angry buzz arose from our side of the table. "Not to mention the fact that Praetor Antonius is, essentially, the Head Peacekeeper for all of Panem. How could we, in all good conscience, simply forgive and forget?"

"Antonius and I shortened this war by months," Blackstone said. "We're aware of Rebel forces staged just across our borders in Districts Three and Seven, awaiting the command to launch a spring offensive. Of course, it would be much easier to bomb us into submission – you do enjoy air supremacy, after all – but you want to capture the Capitol intact. And that, ladies and gentlemen, will cost hundreds, if not thousands, of lives on both sides."

"If you really gave two shits about shortening the war," Johanna spat, "you would've done something a long time ago, instead of waiting for Snow to collapse!"

"You mean, like cause a nuclear-tipped ballistic missile to veer off-course, disarm itself, and crash harmlessly into an uninhabited area inside District Ten?" Blackstone asked, a note of amusement in his voice.

Boggs looked thoughtful. "You hinted, during one of your early broadcasts to us, that the missiles failure may not have been accidental."

"Snow was livid," Antonius chimed in. "I would have given even odds on him ordering the executions of both myself and Minister Blackstone for the 'failure.' As it happened, he decided that we were of more value to him alive than dead."

"I have to wonder," Boggs continued, "how much of your motivation was fueled by a desire to end the war once and for all, and how much was your personal desire to be reunited with Sperantia."

"What difference does that make now?" Blackstone asked.

"I want to know who I'm negotiating with," Boggs replied. "The career politician trying to end a needless war, or a frightened father who just wanted to get his child back safely."

Blackstone smiled slightly. "Then, in that case, I would have to say – both."

Boggs nodded slowly. "We will not rule on your request for amnesty at this time, Minister. The pros and cons of granting – or denying – such a request, whether it be all or in part, must be carefully weighed. Further, I represent only one district. There are many others in this fight and they must have a say as well."

"I understand," Blackstone said.

"For now," Boggs declared, "you, Minister Blackstone, and you, Praetor Antonius, and your senior Peacekeeper officers will be allowed to move about freely. You may not remain under arms. Pass that word among the Peacekeepers loyal to your cause. All weapons will be returned to their armories and will be kept under the control of the Rebellion. Additionally, you need to block all traffic attempting to flee the Capitol. We have a list of citizens that are of special interest to us. We don't want to have to spend additional resources in hunting these citizens down in other districts." Boggs glanced first at Pullman, then at Beck. "Do either of you have anything you wish to add?"

"Prisoners," Beck growled. "We want our prisoners repatriated immediately."

"Is that all?" Blackstone asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I was under the impression that we were here to broker a formal cease-fire, and here you are demanding that our forces disarm completely and that we immediately release all Rebel prisoners."

Commander Pullman spoke for the first time. "Disarming your Peacekeepers and releasing your Rebel prisoners would be an effective means to show your good faith, Minister," she said, softly but firmly.

Antonius leaned forward. "Commander, who will prevent Rebel forces from retaliating against my unarmed Peacekeepers? Without a means to protect themselves, they will present inviting targets with their distinctive white uniforms."

"Praetor, Commander Pullman has a valid point," Boggs said. "You need to make a good-faith gesture to show that the Capitol is truly sincere."

"I understand," Antonius said. He glanced at Blackstone, who nodded and added, "One moment, please."

While Blackstone and Antonius conferred in hushed tones, I glanced over at Katniss, who was sitting, stone-faced, to my left. "What do you think?" I whispered.

"I think Boggs needs to quit fucking around and lay down the law with these two," Katniss muttered.

Blackstone spoke before I could say anything more. "I will order the immediate release of all Rebel prisoners held by our forces," he said. "I would have suggested a prisoner exchange, but I have a feeling that certain Rebel forces didn't bother to keep Loyalist prisoners alive for very long, so that issue we will address at a later time."

Blackstone was staring directly at General Beck as he said this, and it wasn't lost on any of us that, once again, he was accusing Beck's forces of executing captured Peacekeepers. Beck's face flushed crimson with anger and he began to slowly rise from his seat, his hands clenching and unclenching. "You son-of-a-bitch," he muttered darkly. "You –"

"Sit down, Beck," Boggs ordered calmly.

Beck hesitated and turned to look at Boggs, who was still seated to his immediate left. "Are you going to just sit there and –"

"I said, sit down." Boggs never raised his voice. Still, Beck hesitated – until Boggs, with a sigh, stood and faced him. Boggs was half a head taller than Beck and carried himself with the bearing and confidence of a career military officer. "I'm not asking. Take your seat. Now."

Beck hesitated for a moment before wordlessly sinking back into his seat. As soon as he was seated, Boggs said, "Commander Pullman, would you be willing to liaison with Minister Blackstone's designee regarding the repatriation of Rebel prisoners?"

Pullman nodded. "Of course."

"I'll put you in contact with Brigadier Valerius, Commander," Antonius said. "He'll see to it that your people are returned to you as soon as possible."

"Now, regarding our forces still under arms," Blackstone continued. "Antonius and I agree to surrender all weapons to your forces – except personal sidearms. Our Peacekeepers will need some form of self-defense – considering the somewhat delicate circumstances that we all face now."

Boggs hesitated. "President Boggs, for this cease-fire – and eventual surrender – to work, there has to be some measure of trust between us," Blackstone said.

Boggs nodded slowly. "All right. But pistols only."

Blackstone smiled. "Thank you, Mr. President." He pressed a button set into the table to his front. "Albia, please bring in the cease-fire agreement."

Almost immediately, a door opened in the wall behind Blackstone's place at the table, and a young Capitolite woman emerged, trailed by a diligent Peacekeeper. "Until quite recently, Albia was the personal secretary to both Coriolanus and Marcellus Snow. She has proven herself to be quite indispensable to the day-to-day operations here."

The woman handed Blackstone a folder, from which he extracted a single sheet of paper. Blackstone scanned it quickly, scribbled something at the bottom, and then stood and handed the paper back to the woman. "I've added that all Rebel prisoners are to be immediately released, and added the weapons-surrender proviso as well," he explained. He nodded at the woman. "Albia?"

Nervously, Albia walked the paper over to where Boggs was still standing. "You sign right there, sir," she said, pointing at the paper with a trembling, well-manicured finger.

Boggs quickly scribbled his name and handed the paper to Beck, who, after a moment, also signed. Then Commander Pullman, and finally, the Rebel Victors that were seated at the table. The only signature that really mattered, of course, was that of Boggs – but he wanted to send a clear message to Blackstone and Antonius. And that message was: despite our differences, we are unified in our desire to see the Capitol, and the current government, fall.

Albia retrieved the cease-fire document once Enobaria – the last signatory – had signed. She then went over to a mahogany sideboard, where inside was a copy machine. There, she quickly made a copy for each of us, and affixed a stamped seal to each copy, attesting that it was a true copy of an original document on file in the Presidential Palace. Finally, she handed each of us our copy. Minister Blackstone was the last to receive his.

"Our orders will go out immediately," Blackstone said. "I trust that you will give similar orders to your forces, President Boggs?"

Boggs inclined his head. "Of course." He carefully folded his copy and slipped it into his jacket pocket. "I suppose I should have brought along someone to attend to administrative matters," he said apologetically. "I suppose I'm still a soldier at heart, still learning how to be an administrator."

Blackstone chuckled. "We are more alike than you think. I will always be an administrator at heart, and I fear I will never learn how to be a soldier."

Afterwards, as we filed out of the Presidential Palace, I still had a hard time believing it. There were a million details to work out, still – but the war was, for all intents and purposes, over. The Rebellion won. And, just as important as the cease-fire, was the fact that there never again will be another Hunger Games. I found myself smiling as we walked back to the hovercraft. I glanced at Katniss. She, too, was smiling in disbelief.

There was, of course, the matter of both Coriolanus and Marcellus Snow. Coriolanus Snow, we had learned, was still stubbornly clinging to life, although he was still in a coma. Marcellus was incarcerated in the very same prison that had held me once, and would remain there indefinitely, until he could face trial. He probably wouldn't be executed – at least that was Haymitch's opinion. He hadn't been in office long enough to commit the kinds of atrocities that his father had performed. But, the chances of him ever being a free man again were remote.

There were others, of course. Cassius Hammersmith, Bacchus Brandywine, Seneca Crane, Caesar Flickerman, Claudius Templesmith, and many others that were wanted and would stand trial for their crimes, and not only against Panem as a whole. Hammersmith, Brandywine, and Crane I wanted personally – and so did Katniss.

The only problem was that none of them had been arrested yet. And that bothered both Katniss and me.

PART V

Seneca Crane smiled grimly as the last of the pods blinked green on the holographic map of the Capitol. It had been a long, time-consuming process – each pod had to be brought back online manually – but now, all they required from him was a single mass command to arm, and the Capitol would be transformed into a single, massive bloodbath.

Nervously, Crane glanced at the row of gauges that displayed power consumption. He wasn't concerned about power consumption, of course – but the activated pods drew a great deal of energy, and someone was bound to notice the drain sooner or later. After that, it would just be a matter of time before they traced the source of the drain to the Control Center.

No matter. Seneca Crane vowed to himself to remain here and cause as much terror and havoc as possible while he still had the power – figuratively and literally – to kill as many Rebel scum as possible.

With that thought in mind, Crane entered the "ARM" command into his computer console and nodded in satisfaction when the message "SYSTEM ARMED" flashed on his screen. Only then did he sit back and allow himself to relax. All he could do now was wait for the carnage to begin.

Even after several hours, the nagging anxiety that I had felt all day was still eating away at the pit of my stomach.

My fear must have shown on my face. "You okay, kid?" Haymitch asked as he walked over to my seat, carrying two field ration packs.

I shrugged, hoping to appear nonchalant. "Nerves," I muttered. "I'll live."

Haymitch slid into the seat next to mine and handed me one of the ration packs. I took it and tossed onto an empty seat. District Thirteen field rations were nutritious, but unappetizing as hell. "You need to eat," Haymitch pointed out. "Keep up your strength. You're gonna need it."

I nodded at the ration pack still clutched in his hand. "You first," I said.

Haymitch chuckled. "I've already eaten. This is for Katniss."

I said nothing. Haymitch sighed. "Okay, kid. What's eating you?"

"Nothing," I replied sullenly. Haymitch's only reaction was to raise one eyebrow skeptically. He knew me too well. "Okay," I admitted. "I'm nervous. Jumpy."

"Yeah, you already said that," Haymitch said impatiently. "But I have a feelin' there's more goin' on in there." He tapped my head with one finger.

"I'm scared," I found myself saying, my voice so low it was almost a whisper.

"I don't get it," Haymitch said in surprise. "You seemed all right when we had our meeting with Blackstone earlier."

"I know, I know," I said impatiently. "It's just that – I don't know, we were going in with the upper hand, you know? But, as soon as we were done with the meeting, we were shown the door, like we were the ones that were begging for surrender terms. And that got me started to be thinking that everything's gonna fall apart again."

Haymitch smiled. "You got your ass in a pucker because Blackstone didn't roll over and beg for mercy? Boy, he's a politician. He's a negotiator. He's gonna try to get the best deal that he can. Shit, I can't fault him for that."

I must not have looked convinced by Haymitch's words. "Look. Boggs and company haven't been exactly sitting on their hands out here. He and Plutarch – along with Pullman, and even that jackass Beck – have been working their butts off. Get this – we'll probably have a formal surrender ceremony by the end of the week." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of the Presidential Palace. "Signed in the same room that we were in earlier today. The rest of the Victors in District Thirteen are in the air as we speak, flying out for the ceremony. We have trains coming from Districts Five, Eight, Nine, and Eleven, all carrying representatives from each of those districts, plus relief supplies for the Capitol."

I stared at Haymitch as I digested the information. "Surrender?" I finally managed to say.

Haymitch nodded. "With no Treaty of Treason this time." He grinned and added, "Oh, yeah. I almost forgot. Minister Blackstone has invited our entire group to move into the Palace. Snow knows there's plenty of room for everyone, and it'll be a damn sight more comfortable than us stringing hammocks in the hovercraft."

Haymitch's words had a calming effect on me, and I could feel my anxiety ebbing somewhat. "When do we go?" I asked.

"That last hovercraft is inbound and should be here in less than an hour," Haymitch replied. "Just the Victors, though – Beetee, Annie, and some 'essential personnel,' as Plutarch put it." Haymitch ticked off names on his fingers – Lieutenant Jackson, Darius Potter, Fulvia Cardew, and Effie Trinket – I mean, Effie Abernathy - among them. I noticed that some names were conspicuously absent.

"What about Meda Snow and Speri Blackstone?" I asked.

"Not enough room on the hovercraft," Haymitch said with a shrug. "They're on the train from District Nine, along with Mrs. Everdeen and Prim. They'll be here sometime tomorrow morning."

"From Nine?" I asked. "They're on a train from a district? Is that such a good idea?"

"They're well-protected," Haymitch assured me. "Casca Bishop is with them, along with some security from Thirteen." He patted me on the shoulder. "Don't worry, kid. Casca will take care of 'em."

I had no doubt that Casca would see to it that both Meda and Speri were unmolested. "I hope Snow hangs on until Meda gets here," I found myself saying. "I know she'll want to see him before he – well, you know," I finished lamely.

Haymitch nodded somberly. "Funny how shit works out," he murmured. "I spent the better part of thirty years wishing that Snow was dead, and now I find myself hoping that he doesn't die too quickly." He straightened up and grinned again. "Listen, why don't you go find Katniss and give her the news? Last I saw of her she was behind the trail hovercraft, with Finnick and Johanna. Messalla wanted to get some stills of her and the others."

I returned Haymitch's smile. "Okay." I stood and stretched, working out the kinks from sitting too long. "I'll see you later," I said to Haymitch as I exited the hovercraft. I felt much better now, not only from Haymitch's assurances, but from a decision that I had made after he announced the pending surrender ceremony. I needed to speak to Katniss, and not just about our upgrade in accommodations.

I had something much more important to discuss with her.

I found Katniss exactly where Haymitch said I would.

Messalla was just finished up when I found Katniss and the others. The pictures that he was taking were ordinary "propo shots." I had posed for a few with Haymitch, Cashmere and Enobaria earlier – pretending to study maps, standing at the communications console with a headset on pretending to talk on the radio, and other contrived poses – and Plutarch seemed pleased with the results. When the relief trains arrived tomorrow, we were all supposed to be on hand for another photo op – this one of all the Rebel Victors handing out relief supplies to the beleaguered citizens of the Capitol.

Plutarch tried to explain what we were doing in a single sentence. "We've won the war," he had explained to us. "Now we have to win the peace."

Katniss saw me and waved as I approached. I waved back, flashed her and the others a quick smile, and then stood off to one side and waited until Messalla was finished. As it turned out, I didn't have to wait for very long.

Katniss trotted over to me as soon as they were finished. "Did you hear?" she asked, somewhat breathlessly. "We're sleeping in the Presidential Palace!"

"Yeah, I heard," I said with a laugh. "I'm sure the beds in there are a lot more comfortable than a hammock in a hovercraft."

Katniss leaned towards me conspiratorially. "As long as they put us in the same room," she said softly.

I felt my heart quicken slightly. It had been a while since Katniss and I had been able to have any real alone time. "If they don't," I replied just as softly, "I'll come to yours."

Katniss smiled. Yes, we were definitely thinking alike. "Listen," I continued as I took her arm. "I need to talk to you. Are you finished here?"

"Yeah, sure," Katniss said as we began to walk. "What do we need to talk about?"

I didn't reply right away but led her a few more steps away before I spoke. "It's just –" I began nervously. "I mean, I wanted to wait until I was sure that the fighting was over before I said anything."

"Anything about what?" Katniss asked defensively.

Just say it, I said to myself. "Katniss, will you marry me?"

Katniss stared at me for several long seconds. "What?" she finally managed to croak.

"I didn't want to ask until I knew that the war was over," I said hurriedly, my words tumbling over each other as I spoke. "But I figured, this would be a good – I mean, the war is all but over, and –"

"Yes," Katniss whispered.

I stared at her in shock. "Did you just say what I thought you said?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"Yes," Katniss repeated, her lips curling up in a smile. "Yes!"

"Say it," I pleaded. "Say the words, Katniss. Please."

"Yes, Peeta," she said softly, tears forming in her eyes. "I will marry you."

I started to say something, but my words would be forever trapped in my throat when Katniss suddenly clinched me so tightly that it almost took my breath away, and her lips pressed warmly and lovingly to mine.

Seneca Crane leaned forward as he watched the track of a hovercraft as it flew slowly over the Capitol from the east. It wasn't a Capitol hovercraft – it lacked the tell-tale passive broadcast signal that marked all Capitol flights – so, by default, it had to be of Rebel origin. The only problem was that none of the pods were designed to engage aerial targets.

Crane had other problems. In his haste to arm the pods, he had forgotten one major item – the city was still full of its own citizens. There was a city-wide curfew, of course – put in place by the traitor Blackstone and his co-conspirators – but there was very little that the Peacekeepers had done to enforce that curfew. As a result, thousands of Capitol citizens were out, clogging the roads leading to Districts One and Two, and the imagined safety that they would find there. Crane had realized his error and had quickly disarmed the pods, and not out of any compassion towards the refugees – as far as Seneca Crane was concerned, anyone that would flee was a traitor deserving of nothing but contempt – but because a sudden rash of pod detonations would alert the Rebels without killing any of them.

Crane had disarmed the pods quickly – but not before a family that had lived near the Tower district had perished when an armed pod had sprayed them with liquid nerve gas. The family had perished quickly and quietly, twitching out their lives in an alley just a block from their home. Crane, thankful that this pod hadn't been one of the noisy, explosive variety, had cursed his own sloppiness and had immediately disarmed the pods. No, he would wait until there were more suitable targets to engage.

One of these suitable targets was inbound, heading straight for the Presidential Palace – no doubt to land at City Circle with the other three hovercraft. Crane was chafing at the knowledge that still more Rebel scum were flying into the Capitol. He reasoned that they must be people of some importance – killing them would certainly be a blow to the Rebellion. No matter that the war was all but over. Crane wanted a reckoning from these bastards. They may have won, but Crane desperately didn't want them to be able to enjoy their victory.

Seething inside, Crane watched the hovercraft icon slowly approach City Circle. There was an eclectic assortment of pods in the immediate vicinity of the hovercraft landing zone, and Crane examined each one in detail. One was a simple proximity explosive – in effect, a huge landmine – but it was located much closer to the Remake Center, several hundred meters from the cluster of hovercraft. The next pod in line would, when triggered, shoot jets of flame across the avenue, burning alive anyone unlucky enough to wander into its influence. The next one was –

Crane sat bolt upright and quickly scanned the specifications for the next pod. A directed-energy weapon – in effect, a very powerful laser beam – was hidden inside a streetlight pole. It was oriented towards the street, of course, but Crane noticed that the projector was on a swivel mount. Instructions for altering the aim of the projector displayed next to the schematic, and Crane experimented until he had the projector pointed slightly skyward. Another slight adjustment, and the sensors that controlled when the weapon would activate, and then fire, were also reoriented. Finally, Crane sent an "ARM" command to just this single pod. He needn't have rushed. According to the holographic display, the inbound hovercraft was still a couple of minutes away.

Crane activated a wide-angle camera hidden inside the same streetlight pole. He wanted to be able to see the results of his work. And, with luck, the Rebels will assume that this single pod activation was due to a malfunction, instead of by design.

Crane grinned unpleasantly. An assumed malfunction was preferred – he wanted to wait until the Capitol was swarming with Rebel soldiers before he reactivated the remaining pods – but if someone suspected otherwise, Crane was prepared to reactivate all the pods at once. They may get him eventually, but he would make the Rebel scum pay, in blood, for every meter.

Katniss and I glanced skyward at the unmistakable sound of an approaching hovercraft. She spotted it first, coming in low and slow directly over the Presidential Palace. It would fly over the line of three hovercraft before spinning 180 degrees and landing behind our third hovercraft.

"Here they come," I said unnecessarily. "We better move."

Johanna trotted over to us just as Katniss and I started to move out of the landing zone. "You two travelling light?" she asked teasingly. "I'm sure you could both find clothes that fit inside the Palace, but I doubt if they would be in your style."

"Oh, yeah," I said. No doubt we would move directly to the Palace once the new hovercraft has landed. Our duffel bags were still stowed on our hovercraft, complete with fresh clothing. I turned to look at Katniss. "We should grab our gear."

"I'll get it," Katniss said lightly before she kissed me and scampered off towards the second hovercraft. "You wait there," she called out over her shoulder. "I'll be right back!"

Johanna looked at me quizzically. "I'll explain later," I said lamely.

Johanna's lips curled up in a knowing grin. "Holy shit," she gushed. "You really did it, Handsome. You're finally gonna make an honest woman outta Katniss!"

"Later, Jo," I pleaded.

"Spill it," she commanded.

"All right," I said, and leaned forward, lowering my voice to a near whisper. "Yes. I asked, and she said yes. But don't say anything, Jo. Katniss and I will make an announcement tonight. Okay?"

Johanna did something very unlike her just then. She wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed both of my cheeks. "I knew it! Okay, Handsome. Your secret is safe with me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I gotta go get my shit too!"

Johanna turned and began to trot towards our hovercraft, even as the down-draft from the rotors of the inbound hovercraft began to kick up dust. I glanced up, shielding my eyes from the swirling dust, and waved at the pilot. At that instant, a blinding lavender-colored light struck the side of the hovercraft. I stared in mute horror as the machine lurched and a shower of sparks and molten metal burst from the wing root, before the wing seemed to fold up on itself before shearing off completely.

The hovercraft lurched again, tilting up and listing dangerously to one side as the remaining rotor tried in vain to keep the bucking machine stable. For a brief second, it seemed that the pilot was going to win the battle, before a second beam of lavender light struck, knifing through the fuselage clear to the one remaining rotor. The rotor flew apart when the beam struck home, and the hovercraft lost its battle to remain in the air. The machine nosed down and dropped from the sky like a brick, falling some fifty meters to collide violently with the center hovercraft that was parked between the two escorts.

I opened my mouth to scream out a warning, but never made a sound as the two hovercraft exploded, and I was blown back by the force of the blast. A huge ball of flame and smoke roiled into the air. The heat and the sheer force of the blast struck me so hard it felt like I had been hit by a runaway train. I could feel myself slipping into unconsciousness, but before I went out completely, I was finally able to gasp out my one-word warning – not that anyone could hear my feeble croaking shout.

"Katniss!"