Chapter 6 Philosophies of the Games.
Cressida rang at the apartment door, and made sure the security camera could see her.
"What do you want?" demanded the voice over the intercom. "To gloat over getting my job? But I suppose not; it's a step down for you."
"I need your – expertise," said Cressida.
Hermia laughed, not very pleasantly. "First time somebody's asked me for that, and probably the last. OK, I'll let you in."
Cressida entered to find the apartment in disarray, numerous objects boxed up. Hermia was apparently moving out.
"I'd offer you something to eat," said the former District 10 escort, "but I've sold off all of my luxury stuff. I'm going to need the money, now that I've lost my job. Water?"
"Thank you."
"So what do you need to know?"
"What to do. My girl tribute keeps saying that she's going to die."
"Then she probably will. It's pretty much a self-fulfilling prophecy, once they get in that mood. Why get upset? Preparing them for the games is mainly the mentor's job."
Cressida didn't want to admit that Andromeda's attempt at running away had probably alienated Bunyan permanently. "She deserves to live a normal life."
Another unpleasant laugh. "She deserves to? What about the thousand other tributes who have been slaughtered in the past 64 years?" Hermia suddenly sobered. "But you care. Good for you. I'll try to help. Did this girl have a job?"
"Cowgirl."
"Can she rope cattle?"
"Bunyan asked the same thing. Yes."
"OK. See Caesar Flickerman. He acts like a clown, but for him it's a matter of honor to present each tribute the best he can. Ask him to play up the parallels between subduing animals and fighting other tributes. Tell the girl to learn as many other skills as she can. When it's time to audition for the judges, tell her to demonstrate catching objects with the lariat – moving ones, if possible."
"Thank you. That's very clever of you, Hermia."
She meant as flattery, but it seemed to cause a huge mood swing. "Clever, great. Do you know the main job requirement for being a District escort? Stupidity. You just need enough brains to chant 'Happy Hunger Games! And may the Odds be Ever in Your Favor!' And pick papers out of a jar."
She started pacing. "I was stupid for years, until I finally started noticing things. Then I started taking morphling to dull my thoughts. I'm not alone. I'm sure some of the other escorts do it. Definitely some of the mentors rely on drugs. Two of the District 6 victors are addicts; they're in terrible shape. District 12's only victor is a drunkard. I should have known that, sooner or later, I'd take too much and crash."
Cressida was startled at what she was hearing; she had never before heard a Capitol denizen speak so cynically. "Um, right. Well, I have to be going. Thank you for your advice."
"Wait! There's something else I think you should know, even if you won't have the nerve to put in your documentary. The Games were never supposed to last this long."
Cressida stopped, unable to resist the narrative hook. "What?!"
"A friend of mine told me that the Games were supposed to stop after about half a dozen years after the Rebellion, now that the Districts had learned their lesson."
"But they didn't stop."
"No – there was too much money involved. Millionnaires betting on their favorite tributes were willing to pay huge prices to send the tributes gifts that would help them win, because they would make even more money on their wagers. Enough to pay for the games and earn somebody a nice profit. Specialists from architects to biologists were making money off the construction of arenas and the breeding of new mutts. Lots of other profiteers, official or off the record. So Somebody ordered the Games to continue, "
"Who told you this?"
"I promised not to say. They'd get in big trouble if the word got out and their name was attached."
That was real bizarre. The Hunger Games had been part of Panem culture since before Cressida was born. It couldn't just be somebody's get-rich-quick scheme.
But as she walked out, it occurred to her that if the Hunger Games did not exist, Andromeda could look forward to living for years.
0-0-0-0
As pre-arranged, she met Bunyan in a restaurant near the Training Center. He handed over her ID. "It worked; they thought Andromeda was you and let her in with no fuss. But when you come in tomorrow, better wear something extravagant, in case the same person is on watch and wonders why you look different."
"I'll remember. So what happened after you two were safely in? "
"Andromeda promised not to try another escape. She knows whips - bullwhips and horsewhips in her profession, and she's seen public floggings of criminals – and she's terrified of being beaten with one herself."
"Did you have to humiliate her by spanking her butt as well?" Cressida asked with annoyance.
To her surprise, the word seemed to galvanize Bunyan. "Humiliate? Cressida, just being in the Games is the ultimate humiliation! Your life and health are worth literally nothing in the eyes of the law. Somebody can hurt or kill you with impunity. You have no expectation of privacy. Do you Gamesmakers have footage of tributes relieving themselves, or having sex, or just plain bare-assed? Even though you don't release it to the public?"
"Er – yes. I mean, the cameras pick up everything; we have to edit it to take out the dull moments. And the raunchy ones."
"But the 'cut' footage circulates as porn." He didn't even phrase it as a question.
"Er, yes."
"To the Gamesmakers, the tributes are nobodies. Well, when I was a tribute, I knew I was not a Nobody. I was a Somebody, and I was going to prove it, by winning. And I did. I'm not going to apologize for slapping Andromeda's ass. If it taught her that she's vulnerable, and has to defend herself because nobody else will do it for her, it will have done her a favor. I think there have been cases of tributes who seemed doomed at first, but finally got pushed once too often and pushed back, until they won. Johanna Mason, for example."
"Johanna? She always said that it was planned all along – pretend to be meek and helpless at first, then catch her enemies off guard."
"That's what she SAYS. But I think the reality is more complex. I think she was at first genuinely fatalistic about losing the games. But then she found herself in the worst experience of her life, naked and in danger of rape. She fought back, and as a result she not only killed the potential rapist, but gained possession of his knapsack with a lot of goodies. And she saw a path to victory. Of course afterward she claimed that she had planned it all. That sounded better than admitting she had blundered into it."
"Do you have proof of that?"
"No. Just my instincts as a fellow victor. The games are dicey enough without 'planning' to confront an enemy stark naked – even though they say Johanna enjoys appearing nude in public sometimes. I wouldn't try publishing my speculations if I were you. Let her keep her dignity - and besides, she may be tempted to cut off both of our heads."
It was the second time tonight that she had heard weird speculations – nothing she could use in her work, but definitely signs that things happened behind the façade of the games, and that the Official Version of events was just that, an official version. And what other stories were there, which she hadn't heard yet?
But she reined in her curiosity. She had a particular agenda at the moment: help Andromeda. "So you think Andromeda has a chance of winning if she puts her mind to it?"
Bunyan shrugged. "A chance. It's impossible to compute all of the variables; that's why the blessing is 'may the odds be ever in your favor'. What do you think of Cashmere's chances, for example?"
Cressida sighed. "Pretty high, I'm afraid. Same nature and nurture as her brother. He may have given her personal training and pointers of his own. From the sponsors' point of view, there's name recognition, and she LOOKS dazzling. She's obviously the front runner. Maybe it's too obvious."
"Why too obvious?"
"Think of it from the point of view of a potential sponsor. If one particular tribute is a shoo-in to win, why waste money sending her gifts? Just keep your money – particularly if everybody else is betting on the same girl and the gambling winnings are going to be spread among a lot of people, so you're not going to make a killling."
"But that means other tributes are even less likely to get sponsorships," observed Bunyan. "Unless somebody bucks the odds and decides to bet on a long shot."
"Sounds like we have our work cut for us."
0-0-0-0
The next morning, Cressida tried to call some friends at her office. To her surprise, the call was transferred to Plutarch.
"Sorry to run interference, Cressie," he said. "But news about the nature of this year's arena has reached us, and you have to stay out of the loop."
Cressida was suddenly tempted to fish for that particular information, to give poor Andromeda some advantage, knowing what environment to train for. But that was too risky. If it was discovered that the information had been leaked to a tribute, there would be a tremendous scandal. Snow might even order a few executions. Besides, Plutarch was shrewd enough to block any fishing. But the fact that Cressida had thought of it made her realize how emotionally bound up she was getting in these Games.
"OK, I'll stay aloof," she said reluctantly.
"Good. By the way, I do have one piece of information that I can give you. About Hermia, the escort whom you're replacing."
Cressida got nervous. Had somebody found out about last night's visit? "What is it?"
"She was found dead this morning. Morphling overdose."
TO BE CONTINUED