The rebels were back before midday with electronic detectors. They were not wearing masks anymore, just simple gray uniforms. Some of them had Citadel tattoos on their arms and all were closely shaved and short-haired. They swiped the trio from neck to toe, obtaining nothing except faint beeping on their left upper-arms which signaled a classic tracker, an annoyance but not a threat to them. They didn't seem surprised.
A broad bald man in his thirties held out his hand to them. "Lieutenant Sylvan Grey. From what I heard, you thought quick on your feet back there."
Mags shook his large hand firmly, feeling more comfortable than she had in days. Here, hopefully, no one would seek to kill her. Maybe people would even be honest. She felt a genuine smile grow on her face just at the thought. "We can't keep running around and reacting. We need to have a plan."
He grinned at her. An easy grin that Mags couldn't help but mirror. "Quite. Come with me, the four of you," he said, "we have some serious thinking to do."
Grey led them to a much bigger room with conference tables and memorials on the walls.
"What do we know?" he began as they sat down.
"There will be a victor of the Ninth Games," Constantine said, "the Capitol cannot afford to change that. We have a list of the surviving tributes."
Lieutenant Grey eyed it critically. "They must have at least one of those kids underhand. I mean, I could kill you four right now and that poor Will is as good as dead."
Or the Capitol would replace them if they died before they'd done what it wanted them to... Mags clenched her fists painfully. At least in an arena the rules would have been simple and the tributes would have been the only casualties. Here, Mags couldn't afford to think only about herself.
"Is a rescue mission out of the question, Sir?"
Mags felt her heart clench at the hopeful note in Constantine's voice. The four of them were alive only because the lieutenant didn't want to kill teenagers despite the liability. Will was just a name to the rebels, whereas anyone they would lose in the faint hope of rescuing him was someone's friend or family member. They couldn't afford to lose men for his sake, especially since he was tracked by the Capitol. Bile burned Mags' raw throat. Even if they had rescued Will, it would have been pointless. Only one would survive. She wondered how she could have been so sure that her surviving would make the world a better place than any other tribute surviving.
Four needs a victor. We need to train, for the next rebellion.
It had seemed so foolproof to her, back in the relative safety of her district. Now she wondered if she would succeed, both at winning and at working behind the Capitol's back. If she failed... At very best she'd just have saved Lyria Martin's life by volunteering in her place.
A bitter smile had darkened Grey's face. "Atli's not still alive because we like him, Lad."
"Why don't you kill him?" Mags said, her voice almost breaking from anger. She didn't believe the kinship excuse anymore. "Surely they are no great challenge."
Had they really all preferred to let the Scavengers be than sully their hands? She hadn't been able to kill them either, but she couldn't imagine standing by to let people live like that four floors above her head for nine years. She would have found an alternative, anything.
"We'd have to kill every single one of them: they'd scream for blood at Atli's death. That'd be a gruesome hassle but doable," Grey said, his lips curled in distaste as he absently flexed his hand, "but if we massively leave the bunker, the Capitol will know within the hour. The bunker was built to weather a bombing, the sewers were not."
"How would the Capitol know, Sir?" She said, forcing her feelings down as she appreciated the logic behind the excuse.
"The sewers are bugged with heat detectors. They're unreliable in summer on the first level but they give the Capitol a good reading on large groups of people moving between the third and sixths undergrounds. The tunnels on part of the sixth and all of the seventh and eighth undergrounds are clandestine, so clean. We cannot remove the detectors without breaking the walls. The few sewer experts were hunted down efficiently by peacekeepers. There are none left alive."
"The purple moss…?" Fife intervened.
"Raises the wall temperature to 38°C, hence the Scavengers' loving care of that freak plant. Between that and the powerful scramblers they stole from the Citadel, they're pretty safe unless peacekeepers make a massive decent." He smiled nastily. "They tried it twice, with a hundred men and then two hundred. They haven't tried again. Half of them were dead before they reached the sewers' gates."
Mags smiled at the thought. The Capitol needed to be reminded that had it couldn't simply take what it wanted.
Constantine looked deep in thought. "And if the Capitol has the intelligence to drop non-automated bombs over the sewers?"
"The bunker will resist," Grey said, with absolute certainty. "And you know, Lad, they don't have that many bombs left. District Two was heavily sabotaged during the war. With the famine and all the rebuilding, even the Capitol has limited resources, despite what they want folks to believe."
Mags thoughtfully tapped her fingers on her knees. "What else do we know?"
"There will be broadcasts of the Games," he replied, "there have been none since your crash here, yet, only replays of Capitol events and commentaries. Even the deaths have been kept silent."
"So they have no live feed," Mags said, hope lighting her face.
"Or they don't want us to think they do," Fife said.
"I really don't think they do or we wouldn't be talking like that," Grey said with a small smile, "as long as you remain here, they can't reach you."
Constantine stood up, his arms shaking with tension. "They knew enough to put the list of the dead where we could find it. They knew that when they stranded us here. To obtain information, they need us alive. They're confident they'll have Games to broadcast! How?"
The rebel officer shrugged, looking quite unhappy at not having an answer. Mags exhaled in frustration. They were taking baby steps. They couldn't have the Capitol spring a trap on them. They had to anticipate, somehow.
"Why don't you kill us, Sylvan?" Lila finally said.
Grey chuckled. "You, kid, are ruthless. Why should we kill you, Lila? You're no danger."
"We could be. We have to be," Lila insisted, her voice breaking, "or this is pointless!"
"Life's a danger. We'll keep you here until we have a better plan."
Lila looked close to tears. "Why would you risk so much planning for our sorry hides? I don't want to live knowing I fucked the rebellion up!"
Mags swallowed painfully, feeling sick at the thought. Yet she couldn't peacefully walk to her execution. There had to be a way out. She now viscerally understood why even the weakest of tributes didn't give up during the Games. She was no better than them.
"How quick a fiery little thing like you is to believe in the all-powerfulness of our beloved Cestoda. They're arrogant! They've been recruiting their top people among the ambitious dissenters in the Districts for years because their population is too small to provide enough good leadership. They have to give power to those that would otherwise rebel. They're all lies and show. We were winning! The Capitol scared the Districts into submission with its last great attack, but we were winning!"
What! District people working side by side with President Achlys? Former rebels? Mags' mind reeled, refusing the mere thought. It couldn't be. It couldn't be real rebels. Probably just charismatic people that would betray anything to have their family safe and power for themselves. People who'd given up their morals when the Capitol had threatened them, and had let themselves be seduced by the propaganda fed to collaborators. It couldn't be rebels. It just couldn't.
The Lieutenant brought his huge fist down on the table, making the whole room shake and jerking Mags back to the present.
"We were that close," he shouted, fury twisting his lined face. "That close! They had nothing left after that, and we busted it," he said bitterly. "The Capitol's power is still smoke and lights. They have almost no reserve peacekeepers. In ten more years they will. Time is running out. We failed to get more people here, their hold on communications is too good, the fear too great." He chuckled wryly. "Many will die, but we're nothing without the rebellion."
Mags realized she had stopped breathing sometime during the man's passionate speech. She forced air into her burning lungs while trying to make sense of all he had told them.
Constantine had paled at the mention of massive casualties and Fife was staring at Sylvan as if this was beyond her realm of comprehension. It probably was. Mags could grimly understand why after nine years of attacks and obsessive planning, the cause took a much greater dimension than individuals. It pained her to think it was always the great ones, the ones who fought so hard for the cause that would die first, leaving the people who had stayed in shadows, hoping that others' sacrifices would be enough, to benefit from their actions. Yet people were not all equal in strength and it was necessary that those who found the courage to fight did so.
"So what do we do, Sir?" Mags said.
"You won't meet Captain Wickers, safety reasons. But if you're told he said 'hop', you hop."
"He's the highest ranking officer, Lieutenant?" Constantine inquired.
Grey grinned. "He is. We have an army of eleven score, including a bunch of kids even younger than you. Calling him Colonel or General would sound a trifle self-aggrandizing. And cut it out with the Sir. My Ma gave me a name for a reason."
Mags smiled. "Aye, Aye, Sylvan," she said, earning herself a grin.
Eleven score... So about ten percent of the Citadel's population. Maybe there had been many more a decade before; who knew what the casualty rate was?
"What do you want to do?" He said, gesturing to the three men outside the door.
Mags found herself at a loss. What did she want? She wanted to win without compromising the rebels. Therefore she would have to kill Fife and Constantine or do something dangerous enough to get them killed without dying herself. She felt like a horrible person.
"Would Teal consent to see me?" Constantine said, his usual self-assurance absent.
Mags' heart clenched. The man had died in Constantine's arms. She couldn't imagine words of comfort that would soothe his turmoil, let alone Teal's pain. A part of her wished never to see the rebel woman again, to be spared the anguish and feeling of helplessness.
"Of course, just respect the fact she might kick you out, lad," Sylvan said, his face grim, "Garnet will show you the way."
"Yes, Sir."
A older man with a blind eye led him outside. Garnet. Precious stone names were usually given in One.
"Do you have people from every district here?" Mags said.
Sylvan nodded, a proud smile lighting his creased face. "One to Thirteen, and even a bunch of Capitol renegades I'd trust with my first-born's life."
Fancy that. Mags smiled at the thought. But if some District people could turn coat so easily, there was no reason some Capitolites could not have a conscience.
"I'm sure Lila and Mags have a ton of philosophical and technical questions on rebellions and such," Fife began with a hopeful expression, "but I'd really love to explore the non-critical zones of the bunker. It's just too wicked."
Mags shook her head. Fife's priorities would always astound her. How could that girl prefer exploring some furbished underground rock to finding out what Capitol propaganda had kept hidden from them all these years?
Sylvan's lips twitched. "You and Fix are going to get along brilliantly."
"It's Quark to newbies," a young man said in playful tones. "Come on, can't say no to an order to have fun," he said with a huge grin as he enthusiastically grasped the shorter girl's arm.
He was almost bouncing as he left the room. Fife shrugged brightly as she flashed them a farewell smile.
Mags stared at them, astonished someone would be look so happy and carefree in a place like this.
"Those who came here too young are always a little crazy," Sylvan said, rubbing his chin. "Fix took Thirteen's bombing very hard. He never misses a chance to enjoy the little gifts of life now. I wish more were as cheerful as the lad."
District Thirteen, home to the brave men and women who had initiated the rebellion. There was nothing left of their proud industry except videos of a barren wasteland. None had escaped the bombings, such was the Capitol's lack of concern for human life. Mags could barely think about it without losing her temper. They were all just parts of a partially expendable workforce to their heartless leaders. Somehow justice had to be restored.
"How old?" She asked, her voice tight.
"Eighteen. He only ever saw war. We'd better make it worth all those kids' sacrifices."
Mag tried to imagine what it would have been like, growing up with her parents in a place like this. She felt wary just at the thought. Guilt assaulted her for being grateful at the thought of having missed such a great opportunity to keep the Rebellion alive. How selfish of her to put her own comfort first! She should be thrilled to be here, to have the chance to make a difference.
Sylvan put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't feel guilty for having played in the sun as a teenager. You've got plenty of time to make a stand." He then turned to Lila. "So, you two are the ones who believe in the rebellion. Good, everyone should. Now ask away."
"How hard would it be to get peacekeepers to turn on the Capitol?" Mags said, remembering how disabused many of the older law-enforcers who held no particular love of violence had seemed in Four. District Two's population was almost the same as the Capitol's, if they could shatter their belief the Capitol was worth protecting...
"Those District people in charge, can't you offer them a better deal?" Lila said at the exact same time.
Sylvan grinned.
Constantine's POV
"How do you bury your dead?" Constantine said, breaking the silence.
"There are large pools of acid in the city above. The worthy deeds of the departed are consigned in the ledgers. "
Constantine nodded. Garnet's laconic tone made clear that the man had answered out of manners and would not enjoy a conversation. He briefly wondered what worthy deeds Nexus' ledger would read, but was soon distracted. There was only one person his thoughts kept coming back to.
Teal had haunted his thoughts since she had disappeared in the dark tunnels, looking as if she'd crumble with every step under the weight of her morbid load. She'd looked so frail and vulnerable, her beautiful face stubbornly refusing to go slack, bravely holding on to any remnant of fiery emotions to withstand an assault of tactless questions that had no place in a time of mourning. She had guided them to safety pushing aside her own sorrow until they had a path to follow and had braved alone both hostile sewers and the toxic waste above to honor her dead husband. She could have faced a thousand gruesome deaths as she had traveled up those inhabited levels without protection. She had refused his help and, out of respect, Constantine had relented, finding excuses -that it would be intrusive, that she was a soldier used to defending her own life- and later cursing himself for it. For almost a day, gelid fear had clawed at his soul, whispering he had passively let the beautiful woman walk to her death, the woman who had saved their lives. Constantine was possessed by an overpowering urge to see her again, to protect her where he had failed the first time.
He couldn't let her participate in a suicide attack against the Capitol. He needed to be certain that the rebels' plan was foolproof. He knew the human mind could convince itself of many things when people held on to passionate dreams, including an impossible victory. He couldn't bear to watch her leave a second time, this time to a certain death.
Garnet stopped abruptly when they'd reached a long corridor with numbered doors. "Number fourteen. If she wants to be alone, go to room thirty one, there will be people to keep you company."
"Thank you, Sir."
The one-eyed rebel gave him a brief salute and left.
Constantine felt his breath catch when those soulful blue eyes met his. He could finally properly see her and realized his imagination had been lacking. Her alabaster skin of the purest white would put portraits to shame, and small lines of trial gave her face more character than he had ever seen in a woman without tainting he innocence. He lowered his gaze before it became inappropriate. Teal's small room was more orderly than any he had ever seen. It felt sterile, a mask. It couldn't be healthy. Why would such a woman feel the need to prove anything?
"Constantine Aquila, and I am not from here."
Teal cocked her head sideways, her voice a chiming whisper. "Why mention it? We are all from different places."
"You do not have a hair out of place. Where I come from, it is no shame to show grief."
A small broken laugh left Teal's lips, which soon dissolved into choked sobs.
"We lose people often. We are expected not to burden others with our grief. There is always someone to grieve for."
Disappointment and anger at the rebels surged through Constantine. They would ask her to waste what tattered remains of emotional strength subsisted in her wounded soul to protect their own sensibilities? He forced it not to show, this was no place to indulge in ire. Teal needed him calm.
"I understand the community imperative. I also believe a woman should cry when she loses her husband." A wan smile graced Constantine's lips. "I have energy to spare, and I have been useless enough yesterday." He put a light hand on her frail arm. "It would make me happy to see you cry."
Teal laughed again, warming Constantine's whole being. His hold tightened gently. Behind that brave mask, Teal hid simmering feelings that begged to be released. The aristocratic boy waited, wishing she would trust him just enough to let go of her misguided display of strength.
A ghost of a smile graced his lips as her beautiful eyes misted with tears. "You know how to speak to women," she said, her tone lightly teasing despite the thick sorrow choking her words.
She pressed her face against his shoulder as she began crying. Constantine gently cradled her to stop her shaking. It seemed like hours before she managed to stop, but the young man was disappointed when she pulled away.
She wiped her eyes, her lips gifting him with the most touching smile he had ever seen. "How was growing up in a rich, peaceful District like?"
Constantine showed no surprise at the question. He didn't presume to tell someone how to deal with their loss. It suited him perfectly to talk about himself rather than listen to her praise Nexus.
"Peaceful is a matter of perspective," he began, struggling not to stare too intently as he drank in her every reaction.
He absently thanked Cereus for having given him impressive tales to tell a rebel. He doubted she would have been impressed by his mother teaching him how to manage peacekeeper security, but blackmailing Capitol appointed judges to get innocent people out of jail was suitably moral and challenging to both distract her and give her a flattering opinion of him. He was proud of his orator skills and was thrilled to make her smile.
He was barely paying attention to his surroundings as he was later led to a small room with a bunk bed.
"The girls are in the room next to yours. The washrooms are at the end of the corridor," Garnet curtly said. "Have a good night. You will be given a new stock of supplies in the morning."
Fife and Mags were in his room before he'd finished his 'meal'. He vowed never to eat nuts again if he ever returned to One. He'd never considered sustaining himself such a depressing chore before. He feared he might develop an allergy, so repulsed as he was becoming by the lack of variety in his diet.
"So?" Mags said, here green eyes swimming with concern.
"We talked," he said, disinclined to say more. They would pry and prod, pretending to know better, or that it was not his place. Teal's face had regained a hint of color when he had left, and that was all that mattered.
"We did figure you weren't having sex."
Constantine glared at Fife, not dignifying her crude comment with a reply.
"Oh, why the mystery?" Mags said with a sigh. Her eyes then narrowed."Besides, Lila is quite alright, she's just very shaken by this whole situation, understandably so. If you're being distant because it's the Games, fine, but please respect that she truly wants what is best for Panem."
Constantine couldn't fathom why they wasted time on that girl. He had found her unremarkable and irritating in the Capitol and her recent judgmental attitude had hardly affected his opinion. If her ideals were truly so dear to her, Lila should commit suicide instead of demanding that the rebels murder her and live with the guilt. There were a thousand more interesting things to talk about.
"Before you share with us what Sylvan told you, what has Fife to say about the sewers and Fix?"
"Fix is great, very talkative, energetic and funny. We saw huge rooms with amazing systems to pump and filter water and the storage rooms. They're bigger than my street. There are blankets and masks for millions, as if that's the first thing that had been stored. It's crazy. Saw loads of fun stuff."
"How great is Fix?" Constantine said with a small smile. Considering how ill at ease their little liar seemed with casual banter, he doubted she had ever kissed a man. His smile softened. Fife was such a child in some regards.
A merry chuckle escaped Fife's lips. "He has a boyfriend, Constantine."
Constantine's eyebrows flew upwards in shock. He repressed a sigh. Was it just bad statistics or was there something in the air that made the men here dislike women? Teal's lovely figure hadn't strayed from his mind. He winced at the thought of Chase ogling him.
"The Capitol hunts those people down," he then said. "One of Cereus' relatives was incarcerated three years ago under a flimsy pretext. He was hardly the only one."
"I'd never noticed the Capitol monitored sexual preferences," Mags said with a frown, "I'm truly sorry for his loss."
Constantine gave her a smug smile. "Oh the bugger's fine. We blackmailed the judge. Desiré is a respectable man with a respectable job. I don't see why the Capitol is obsessed with them."
There were many odder, more dangerous and unwholesome traits in some citizens, yet peacekeepers let society deal with those, often hardly bothering with laws. Petty theft earned one ten lashes but murder of the poor was seldom investigated.
"Because homosexuality is the emblem of sex for the couple's sake, not procreation, so it's a freedom, like the banned festivals use to be, not something society needs to function. The Capitol can weed it out, so they do so. It gives them an excuse to pry in people's private lives and keeps people scared, since it's hard to disprove an accusation," Fife said.
Constantine arched his eyebrows, impressed by her reasoning. A foul taste entered his mouth as the whole perversity of what she had said sunk in. They were led by vermin. Mags was right. Rebellion wasn't an ambitious choice, it was a necessity. Already the Capitol insidiously tampered with their minds, decreeing what teachers could teach and what people could say in public without fear. They colored the past to their tastes and draped the present in shadows, denying citizens the truth. They had to be stopped before their hold on the Districts tightened further. They had to fall so that Teal could see District One and freely bask in the sunlight without fearing for her life. His face softened at the thought of those soft lips breaking in an awed smile.
"What did Sylvan tell you," he then asked. "How did they separate from the Citadel and what have they been doing?"
Mags smiled. First hand accounts of rebel action had ostensibly heightened her spirits. Constantine narrowed his eyes in keen attention, hoping Sylvan had let slip clues of his plans. He would not let Death claim the woman he had vowed to protect.
AN: To my dear readers, Constantine is obviously biased about Teal and I'm very curious about how I conveyed his new obsession with her. Feedback here would be invaluable. I'm not very confident about my ability at portraying deep emotions.