The name of Rikard Ohm may never have been remembered if the Capitol had not fallen, but now he has since become a national hero: a symbol of the will to triumph over injustice. Born in District 3, he was a technical genius, groomed from a very young age to lead their factories. Ohm had what the locals there call, "techno sense." It was as if machines could actually speak to him.
Quickly catching the eyes of the Capitol Science Establishment, at age 18 he was moved to Snow's Classified Research Division, a top secret program designed to create the next generation of advanced weaponry for the Peacekeeper force. There was not a single instrument of death that Ohm did not excel at producing. Everything from new forms of machine guns, rockets, vehicles, poison gas, and even biological muttations flowed from his factory hidden beneath the mountains of District 2. Over the next decade, he moved up the rungs of leadership in the Capitol ladder till at last he was the direct munitions advisor to the Council of 10. Fifteen years before the war that would be those tyrants' downfall, there was even talk about adding Ohm himself to the Council until they made a request that not even he could honor.
The Council was completely aware of the existence of District 13 and its nuclear arsenal aimed directly at the Capitol. Not satisfied with mere coexistence, President Snow realized that only 13 could truly threaten his stranglehold on power and wanted the ability to strike the first blow. He ordered Ohm to construct a nuclear missile of unprecedented power that could penetrate thousands of feet below the surface of District 13 and detonate, literally turning the last hold-out of hope in Panem into a glowing crater. Ohm realized that even the best designed missile in the world could still be detected by 13 before it struck, giving just enough time to launch a counterstrike that could and probably would obliterate all life on the continent. In a move that would be categorized as one of the most selfless acts of the modern age, Ohm flatly refused, but with dire consequences.
President Snow decided that if Rikard Ohm would not serve him as his chief weapons designer, he would simply serve him. One evening, a squad of Peacekeepers forced their way into Ohm's Capitol Penthouse, kicked him to his knees, and forced him to watch as they put a single bullet into the heads of his wife and young son. Ohm was then taken to a room deep within Peacekeeper headquarters, strapped to a table, and without anesthesia had his tongue ripped from his mouth. The man who was once widely considered the most influential person to ever come out of the Districts was sentenced to a life of slavery as Snow's personal Avox.
For the next fifteen years, he suffered in silence, doing every menial chore that passed through Snow's deranged mind. He cleaned the presidential apartments, he was forced to lay out Snow's clothes every morning, and at every state dinner banquet, Ohm was required to stand directly behind the President with a bottle of wine and forced to fill Snow's glass while being gawked at by every influential citizen of Panem who had once even called him "friend." Every infraction was met with the harshest of beatings, the worst of humiliation, and the most gruesome of tortures to include being made to watch for hours on end the murder of his family which the Peacemakers had recorded on camera.
It seemed that Ohm's fate was sealed until in an almost ironic twist, the very district that he had saved from destruction rose to liberate him. As rebel soldiers pushed through the front gates of the Presidential Mansion on the day of liberation, they were confronted by a single man standing in the courtyard. His body was worn down from years of pain and his head of auburn hair was thinning and gray, but in his eyes was burning hate.
Just as the rebels raised their guns to shoot, he silently held up his hand and beckoned them to follow him. Ohm led the fighters straight into the mansion, up the central staircase, through the banquet hall and down a long hallway directly to a simple wooden door. Behind it was a green house filled with bush after bush of perfect roses. The scent in the air was overpowering, a scent that burned Ohm's soul to the very core as it was forever associated with his cruel master. With the rebels still behind him, he walked to a closet set into the back wall, opened it, and revealed the last desperate hiding place of Present Coriolanus Snow.
That alone would have been remarkably enough, but Ohm revived his technical genius after the war. Emancipated, but still not able to speak, he set to work and created an invention that would not only give him back his own voice, but the voices of all who had them stolen. He called it "the ReeVox," a fitted collar that could be worn around an Avox's voice box and turn the tiny vibrations in their throats into nearly life-like digital speech. The impact of this was immediate and profound.
With the help of donations, the new government purchased thousands of ReeVoxes and distributed them to the surviving Avox population. Voices that had been silent in some cases for almost fifty years were suddenly heard again. Ohm was hailed as genius and hero to the People. His fortune restored, the Defense Ministry offered him another position: Chief of Special Defense. Given free rein to design military hardware once again, Ohm would create technology, produce it in his newly reopened District 2 factory, and sell it to the UDP at deeply discounted rates in exchange for certain guarantees that the new government would not search elsewhere for weapons development. It was a very tidy arrangement. The UDP was able to re-arm itself with some of the most advanced hardware in the world while Ohm ensured that the government who freed him from slavery would never fall, and make a very handsome profit in the process. This secret deal never sat very well with me. Unfortunately, it was now another one of my duties to meet with Ohm once a month to review and approve his latest inventions before they went into full scale production.
At precisely 1300, I walk through the door of the Special Weapons Lab in the Ministry. It is, in fact, not a lab at all but simply a showroom designed to display the latest and greatest achievements of one man's troubled genius. The worst part of these meetings is that Ohm always insists on conducting them one on one with me.
His back is to me as I walk into the room. The gray-jumpsuited figure topped with the mop of long white hair is unmistakable.
"Good Afternoon, Colonel Snow. Glad to see that you are on time this month," I hear in a high-pitched tone that is neither completely human nor completely machine but somewhere in between. Slowly he turns and I am confronted with a sunken white face and glaring sky-blue eyes. The polished silver Reevox collar around his neck gleams under the halogen lighting of the room. Every time I see him, the thought crosses my mind that he has somehow transcended a barrier and begun to merge with the technology he loves so much.
"Afternoon, Sir," I say trying to sound cordial.
"Please," he says politely back, gesturing to a stainless steel table piled high with equipment. "We have much to see." The fact that I hear words but his mouth remains motionless is still jarring. Though it is no different than the other Avoxes I have known, it is always somehow more disconcerting coming from Ohm.
The first thing that he picks up is a black assault rifle.
"I call it the Mark 17. I designed it primarily for special strike forces that must move quickly with the maximum amount of firepower." He hands me the rifle, I must admit I am impressed.
"It's light," I say reflexively. "Almost too light."
"Yes, it is primarily composed of advanced polymers and a few alloys of my personal creation. I assure you, it exceeds the standards of ruggedness and reliability that you have come to expect from my designs."
"What does it fire?" He reaches down to the table and picks up a gently curved plastic magazine.
"It fires a new six millimeter armor piercing round…also of my design." He gestures to the back corner of the room where a training dummy has been dressed in full body armor. A one- inch thick steel plate is set up three feet directly in front of it. "Please, indulge yourself."
I am very skeptical that this weapon will have any effectiveness at this kind of target, but I have been surprised by Ohm's technology before and humor him. I slap the magazine into the bottom of the rifle, chamber a round with a satisfying click, and take aim.
"Fits comfortably into the shoulder, controls seem very intuitive, I like the sights," I say trying to sound as scientific as possible.
"Just wait till you fire it."
Slowly I squeeze the trigger. I fire off three quick bursts, emptying the entire magazine. There is nothing but the loud thunder of automatic fire and the sharp ping of bullets impacting on steel. Then, the room slowly returns to silence as the echoes bouncing from the sterile walls fade.
I am stunned by the results. Every single one of the thirty rounds has placed a clean hole straight through the steel plate. I circle around behind and take stock of the dummy, or should I say what's left of the dummy. The bullets sheared clean through the body armor and through the rubber torso as well, almost neatly cutting the thing in half.
All I manage to say is, "I'm glad you're on our side."
"I'll take that as you approve of the design?"
"I definitely think it is something we can use."
The next hour is spent reviewing various other destructive devices until we reach the final item, a tiny metal cube that is only a single square inch.
"What is this?" I ask. "Some kind of explosive?"
"No, nothing so crude. I've been examining how to solve the problem of global tracking since the satellite network was destroyed. This device transmits a special wave-form that uses the atmosphere as an amplifier. Simply put, once activated the device sends out a signal that can be located to within a few inches anywhere in the world."
"Our intelligence branch would certainly love to have it. Not to mention it would be very useful in locating pick-up sites and downed pilots."
"My thoughts exactly."
We have come to the end of the show.
"As always, you have been very impressive, Sir."
"I am merely a citizen doing his duty to protect his nation. The same as you." Then, without warning, Ohm hands me the locator. "I thought that you'd might like to keep that."
"Why?"
"I think you know why," he says calmly. I suddenly realize what he's getting at.
"How do you know about the disappearances?" I say trying to hide my shock and anger.
"In order to keep better abreast of the possible threats to Panem, President Holmes and General Sturm make the intelligence briefs available to me. I admit, the disappearance of your fourteen comrades is what gave me the idea for that device in the first place. I think it is only fitting that its first use would be for that cause."
"You want me to give it to Venus. She would be the next one to disappear," I say incredulously as I realize his plan.
"That would be a logical assumption."
"But it's only a locator. They would have to take her for me to find them."
"Sometimes we have to make sacrifices in order to accomplish a higher good. As long as you track her movement, you should be able to find her before they are able to harm her, if they are going to harm her. Ideally, you would be able to find the others, rescue them if they are still alive, and catch the culprits responsible."
"By using my own sister as bait!" I am sure that his heart must be more machine than man now as well.
"What alternative do you have? Holmes and Sturm will not help you. The choice is yours." I flinch as I realize that he is right. Slowly, I reach down and take the locator from his outstretched hand. "Whether you believe it is right now or not is irrelevant. Hopefully, the results will justify your actions."
"You better be right," I say as I slip the device into my pocket. I turn to leave the room and walk back toward the door.
The artificial voice of Ohm has one more thing to say to me as I leave.
"As you look inside yourself now you are probably wondering if this makes you a worse human being for considering this course of action. Remember, Ares, Introspection is a dangerous thing. You might not like what you find." The way he uses my first name makes my skin crawl.
Outside, in the hallway, I am alone with my thoughts. I just cannot bring myself to the realization that I was even thinking about putting my own flesh and blood at risk when suddenly a dark figure appears, grabs my collar, and slams me into the wall.
"Nice to see you too, Sir." It is General Sturm. Obviously, he hasn't forgotten the little incident this morning.
"Shut your filthy mouth and listen close. You go behind my back in a briefing to the President again and I will make it my personal mission in life to see that you never see the light of another day again, understand?" I angrily rip his hands off of me.
"That's a pretty interesting thing to say considering current events, Sir." I say refusing to back down.
"What exactly are you implying, Colonel?"
"I'm merely pointing out that your history seems to point out a possible conflict of interest." He takes a few steps back.
"Just how well do you think you know me, Snow?"
'Well enough."
"Do you," he says with a sarcastic chuckle. "Did it ever occur to you think why I joined the Rebellion?" I pause as he turns away.
"I've never told this to anyone before, and I have no idea why I'm saying this to you now. Maybe so that someone else will remember her when I'm gone.
I had a sister once. Her name was Lucia, and all I ever wanted to do was protect her. I even trained to be a Career in the Games so that if she was ever reaped I could take her place in the arena. When the war started, she had a job as a clerk in the Nut. One night, my father found a pile of documents hidden under her bed. She had stolen them with the hope that she could pass them to the rebels and shorten the violence. He turned her into the Peacemakers, our own father turned her in! When they arrived at our home that evening, they took her out to the backyard and shot her like a dog. Let me assure you, I would never in this lifetime put someone else through the experience of losing a sister, no matter how I felt personally."
"Then give me the resources I need to find who is responsible for this, Sir!"
"You know I can't do that. I meant what I said up there earlier."
"Then we're as good as dead."
"We're all as good as dead, Snow. It's just a matter of how we choose to go out." Sturm walks away and disappears down the corridor.
It is at that moment I know what I must do.