Glory goes slightly pale when he sees another fifteen-foot tower standing in the middle of the large stage. As we are directed to stand in a line he mutters, "If there's a choice, you're going up there."
As it turns out there is a choice. This challenge, we are informed, will require one of our pair to be blindfolded. Their partner will stand on top of the tower and direct them verbally to collect and put together a twelve-piece maze puzzle on a tilt-table. They then, still blindfolded and using just our instructions, have to use the tilting table to roll a ball from the start to the end of the maze, where the pressure latch will release another bejewelled key.
For Diya and Arturus, this is easy. My friend from Five is confident and clever, and her partner from Two is happy enough to trust her instructions. Given Glory's dislike of heights and my limited physical strength, it makes sense for me to try and do the talking, and as long as I stick to simple two or three word runs, we should manage. While we prepare, Brutus and Whisper argue back and forth, neither looking particularly happy about the situation. Understandable, as Whisper makes me look loud and talkative, and Brutus doesn't trust her not to make him look like an idiot running around blind.
The watching crowd all gasp and murmur in shock when Brutus wins the argument and joins myself and Diya at the top of the tower. His plan backfires quite quickly, however, as the puzzle pieces are heavy and after the first four Whisper is already visibly struggling to lift them. Glory and Arturus have no such issues, and both Diya and my instructions get them eventually through the puzzle. Arturus unlatches his key first, Glory only seconds behind, mostly due to my inability to give proper instructions. Whisper drops the tenth puzzle piece and tosses her blindfold to the ground as Brutus smashes his fists into the tower rail, bellowing in frustration.
The four of us continuing to the final round quickly make our way to the waiting area behind the stage, leaving the angry man from Two arguing with the officials. Lounging around in the chairs listening to the three of them joke back and forth is quite relaxing, especially since my (and, I suspect, Diya's) main reason for vying to win is now past. The two men, despite their inherent competitiveness seem to be good friends, and probably won't be too bothered at losing to the other. They were the winners of the 40th and 41st Games, both achieving their victory without any backstabbing or trickery on their parts. Both seem like decent people whose families pushed them to compete in the Games from an early age.
In Glory's case, this eventually led to him parting ways with his conniving parents, who saw him as their pathway to a rich and easy lifestyle. He does mention that he's stayed close to his sisters though. We all smile at this and it turns out all four of us have younger sisters that we love to death, though Arturus jokes that anyone trying to hug his youngest sister Honoria is likely to get a black eye for their trouble.
Arturus' family is unique in that he is the only Hunger Games winner that is related to another victor. His father Justus was one of the early victors from Two, and he and all of his siblings trained under their father' tutelage, though only he and his older sister Ursula actually went to the Games.
"I do worry about Honoria, though" he says as we delve into the pile of sweet pastries delivered by a white-clothed server. "She always has to be first even when it's in her best interest to let someone else have a chance to shine."
Glory gives him a long, measured look, and says, "I heard that your brother and sister didn't quite make the cut as your preferred volunteers, though they both fought well in your trials and came close."
"Yes," Arturus says with a small smile. "Adrena lost a few teeth when Lyme knocked her out cold, but luckily Dad was able to get them replaced. And Lycus is quite proud of the scars Halifax gave him. There's a particularly dashing one across his cheekbone he swears all the girls love."
The pastry drops from my fingers when I hear the name of one of the boys who died in my Games. None of the others seem to notice, though I find I can't eat any more now that I'm picturing a younger version of Arturus getting run through by Jasper's spear. I can't quite shake off the image as we are herded out for our final round, an obstacle course that starts on the wide boulevard, the streets lined with cheering spectators, and ends on the stage with us using the three keys we've collected to open the bejewelled chests for our final puzzle pieces. It's not really close in the end—I'm not as fast or strong as Diya and slow us down along the length of the course, and the additional time gives them the win by about a third of a puzzle. I don't really mind, and Glory doesn't seem too sad either. We all shake hands, Glory and I escape the stage for one final interview, where he does most of the talking, and we take a car back to the Victor's Spire before the press can catch up.
A large crowd of victors greets us in the lounge, cheering and backslapping to congratulate us on our effort. I manage to escape to the side, hiding behind the tall Seeder and Pelline, letting Glory enjoy his moment. As several people bring out drinks and music I make a successful run for the lift and manage to hide out for two hours with some peaceful tinkering until several people start banging on my door. I debate trying to ignore them until Glory yells that he has Beetee and will make him dance if I don't come out and join them. I take pity on my poor mentor and accept the pungent drink and invitation to join the dozen people crammed into Glory's apartment as they carry on the party into the early hours of the morning.
~xXx~
I wake to the sound of a wailing siren. Head pounding, I stagger to the window and see a large column of smoke billowing about three blocks away. I try to picture the Capitol from above and decide it's probably the large art gallery with the carved wooden entrance. It would certainly be more flammable than the surrounding office buildings. A second siren starts screeching and I decide that the first thing I'll make when I get home is some sort of comfortable sound-blocking headphones.
Our last official appearance in the Capitol isn't until tonight, sitting in the live audience for the reading of the Quell Card. I debate trying to improve on my four hours of sleep, but give it up as a bad job as the wailing continues. After two cups of strong coffee I go bang on Beetee's door, and he suggests a trip out to a workshop on the far side of town. He managed to escape Glory's party several hours ahead of me and seems to be in a good mood despite his sore hands.
Luda Masterson, whose workshop we visit, sells the lighting equipment used in many of the Capitol's clubs and fashion shows. While the components are built in Three, the overall set-up is decided and installed by her and her crew of artists and electricians. Her business isn't as rich as the Dixons or the Heavensbees, Beetee's other main sponsors that he trades work for Games money for, but she seems genuinely nice and assures us that we can count on her for a moderate sum in future years if necessary, in exchange for adding me to her on-call help line. With the Games only three months away it's good to have these arrangements sorted now.
We stop for lunch at a café I remember Clara taking me to and spend the afternoon in one of the parks watching a group of children play on a large "ship" construction lined with climbing bars, swings and slides. They all seem to be having fun and I suggest haltingly that maybe we could build something similar in Three.
"I tried that once," Beetee says with a rueful smile. "They wouldn't give me a building permit, even for up at the Village. Apparently playgrounds are too dangerous for District children, who might misuse them."
Of course. Not that many people would use them I suppose, as most children old enough to be outside without supervision pick up work at the factories or spend their time in extra classes trying to make the grade for the design rooms. In the poor end of town I've heard of kids as young as three slipping the fence to scavenge in the junkyard, risking serious punishment and breathing in the toxic smoke from the burn-offs as they collect the scraps others missed.
Dido is waiting for me when I get back to the Spire for my final outfit change. The president's speech and subsequent reading of the Quell card shouldn't take more than an hour at most, but we'll be outside and I don't have much faith in the tiny heaters installed amongst the seats. I thank my luck for Dido when she produces a thick woolen coat and an intricately patterned scarf for me to wear, and lets me leave my hair loose to cover my ears. As I won't be under the harsh stage lighting I need only minimal make-up and the bulky clothing renders any jewelry essentially pointless.
As we take our seats in the roped-off rows I see that as expected several of the others were not so lucky and many of the more attractive victors are already shivering in partially unbuttoned silk shirts or dresses that leave parts of their arms and legs bare. Beside me Beetee and Cupros at least have suit jackets on, though they both keep their hands stuffed in their pockets. On my other side I see that the District Four stylists, fed up with Morstan "ruining" their efforts by offering Denissa his suit jacket to keep her from freezing solid, have left him with just a thin shirt too. I'm almost tempted to offer him my scarf, but a blast of cold wind keeps me sufficiently selfish and silent. I do manage to kick the pathetic little heater by my feet a little more in their direction, earning a small smile from Morstan and Ava.
Even so, most of us are shivering as President Snow's speech comes to a close. The ending catches me by surprise—I was trying to work out a more efficient arrangement for lighting the stage and must have lost track of time—and I manage to stand and applaud just a few seconds behind everyone else. Not that I'd likely agree with anything that was said, if I had heard it, but I know what I'm expected to do. With a great fanfare, the anthem blares and a young boy steps forward onto the stage carrying a plain wooden box. As the view on the screen above the stage pans around, I recognise him as Caius Snow, the president's nine-year-old son, who presents his father with the open box full of carefully stacked yellow envelopes.
"Our first Quarter Quell reminded us that the sacrifices made by our children to continue this peace were the result of each district's choice to rebel. As such each district was required to select their tributes rather than allow random chance to determine them.'
He pauses to pull the second envelope, marked with a large number 50 on the front as the crowd murmurs in anticipation. I have no idea whether the cards were written when the Games were first created, as President Snow implies. Surely after the revision of the treaty, around the tenth or eleventh Games the cards would have needed modification, if not outright replacements. I've heard some people even suggest that the original Quell only happened as an extra attempt at quashing the next generation of rebels. Those who had been children during or just after the Dark Days, who took up the fight that their parents left off with a fresh wave of anger. From a few hushed conversations with my parents I know Three had at least one or two little uprisings, though they didn't ultimately achieve anything besides a few burnt-out factories and some graffiti on the streets. If anything the resultant job losses probably hurt our people far more than any shortages of products bothered the Capitol.
My mother was only one year past reaping age for that Quell, though I doubt there was any chance of her getting voted in if she had been younger. I remember her saying once that the female tribute was a scrounger from the poorest end of town and that dying in the Games was probably a mercy for the poor, sickly girl. The boy she and many others were told by market gossip to vote for was the son of one of the particularly cruel factory overseers, though it was another she didn't know that ended up going. I can't recall seeing anything about either of them, so they probably didn't get far.
I've never had anything to do with the victor from that year either. Diya described him as a thoroughly unpleasant and self-centered man that she avoids working with whenever possible. I have spoken briefly to Warrick, one of the other victors from Five, who she considers much better company than the Quell victor Dyon. This says a lot about Dyon to me.
On the stage, President Snow clears his throat as he tears through the top of the envelope and slides out the card inside.
"On the fiftieth anniversary of the Hunger Games, as a reminder that twice as many rebels were killed than Capitol citizens during the Dark Days, each district will send double the usual number of tributes. That is, each district will be represented by two boys and two girls selected as normal. Eligible volunteers will be permitted as usual, and, as always there will be a single victor. Let us now acknowledge the sacrifice that will be made by these brave young men and women to maintain this wonderful, peaceful nation and all the great things it stands for. To Panem!"
The majority of the crowd repeats the toast, crying out enthusiastically in reply. I notice our victors section is a little slower and less enthusiastic, though only three people have the guts to actually remain silent and in their seats. Dominic from Six may just be too drugged to realize what's going on, as he stays staring at the lights above the stage, smiling as the morphling we all know he's addicted to keeps him off in his own world. Down the far end, old Marcie O'Malley, District Twelve's only victor keeps her usual scowl firmly etched, her arms crossed; she made no effort to rise during the anthem or the toast, but then she has the excuse of being old with a bad knee. Four seats to my right, Denissa Flow has also remained seated with a scowl to match Marcie's, despite nudges from Ava and Mags on either side. The cameras sweep across the audience and the big screen above clearly shows us giving the expected standing ovation and the blatant defiance from at least one victor. As we start filing out, pressing together for warmth I wonder if Denissa has any more cousins, and whether they may find themselves as tributes in the 50th Hunger Games.
~xXx~
I manage to dodge the party crowd and get a proper night's sleep before we ship out in the morning. None of us talk much until the train has already pulled out of the Capitol station and is rolling through the rocky outskirts of District Two. I pinch Beetee's newspaper once he gets bored thumbing through it and flick through the stories, photos and countless advertisements. There's a large piece on the fire yesterday praising the valiant efforts of the emergency response team, which were able to save most of the art gallery. Apparently an adjacent block of offices took the brunt of the damage, though there were luckily no deaths or major injuries. So different to the last apartment fire in Three, where I remember hearing about people diving from upper story windows, suffering broken bones or a quicker death than burning, where over a hundred residents lost everything they owned and spent weeks doubling up with friends or sleeping on the streets while they waited for new housing to be available. Our emergency response team is made up of essentially untrained volunteers and has three small trucks. They were able to help catch a few small children that jumped or fell and kept the fire from spreading too much but our district's resources don't stretch to any more than that. I decide to look into anything Beetee or I can create to improve this for future incidents.
This turns out to be a few months too late as, four days after our return another power outage occurs. Unlike the previous one caused by a lightning strike, this one appears to be deliberate damage to the transformer box for the main factory power line. Usually this would backlog production for a few days, but a poorly-maintained surge protector overloads and causes a fire in the district's largest electronic screen manufacturer. By the time the emergency team is deployed the blaze has spread to three neighboring buildings, including one full apartment block. As per protocol, all resources are directed first towards keeping the Capitol property (the factories and store-houses) safe. By morning the usual fog layer is bulked by a layer of thick, greasy smoke hanging over the shell of the gutted screen factory and their melted remains of their fortnightly shipment in the connected store-house. The adjacent factory will take several weeks of repairs and the apartment building is still smoldering in the early drizzle. The bodies of five residents and eight factory workers are laid out along the path, nominally covered with sheeting, though many of them have smoke-blackened limbs sticking out. Workers are still recovering more bodies as Balia, Mother and I arrive and pass out the food and water we bought at the nearest open market. Father and Ezra immediately join one of the work-crews that are digging out a collapsed factory wall that possibly trapped more people. Beetee is already speaking to the leader of the emergency crew, undoubtedly offering whatever resources we have to help. Mayor Redden and his family appear soon after us, also with food and water for the rescue crews. They are accompanied by several of the district's Capitol liaisons, who stand about and make snide remarks about shoddy district workmanship and the inability of uneducated folks to follow simple evacuation plans. No-one wastes time pointing out that evacuation plans may not work when walls unexpectedly collapse.
By midday they've dug out another nine bodies, eleven survivors in various stages of hurt and have had to treat three members of the emergency crew for injuries incurred during the digging. Soon after the senior Capitol liaison arrives with official instructions: all non-registered members of the emergency crew are to leave the scene immediately. The Capitol is bringing in a team to investigate the cause of the fires and doesn't want any of us tampering with possible evidence. Further rescue and recovery efforts will have to wait until their investigation is complete. This evacuation apparently includes the injured and those grieving dead friends and relatives. The liaison, a middle-aged man with a puff of pure white hair and enormous side-whiskers bluntly informs them that it's not his problem where they go, only that they are to leave and may only return when he's finished. They aren't allowed to scavenge through the burned remains for clothes or personal items and are pointedly reminded that it is illegal to sleep on the streets and that there will be peacekeeper crews patrolling to prevent this.
Beetee and my entire family are also chastised for supplying food and water without an official charity permit (which we are not eligible for). Given the circumstances, we are merely given a warning, though any future attempts to distribute large amounts of basic supplies will apparently result in sanctions. My suggestion that we let the displaced families temporarily borrow the nine empty houses in the Village dies unspoken and we trudge back home in exhausted and saddened silence.