Gale's Window

Chapter 6: Ghosts

In the days that followed, I devoted myself to my work. Every morning I'd get up before the wake-up call blared throughout the hallways of the underground maze where I slept, and I would dutifully follow the daily timetable printed on my forearm.

Most days began with physical training sessions that focused on improving my skills with the bows Beetee had created. After a light meal, I would head down into the Special Defense area, where Beetee would teach me the laws of physics and mechanics. The old victor would sit by my side as we tinkered with new ways to set traps that could neutralize and conquer our enemies.

By then, I had forged a relationship with the District Three victor which was based on collaboration and mutual respect. He invariably amazed me with all the things he knew. Things which would have made my life ten times easier if I had been able to apply them to the traps and snares I'd used to feed my family and now seemed so basic in my eyes.

This was one of the most precious things the Capitol had withheld from me, the opportunity to explore, and expand, my knowledge of the world that surrounded me.

But, in President Snow's Panem, knowledge had been a dangerous thing. Having a voice, being able to express our opinions, and being heard, had been luxuries we hadn't enjoyed. People who had spoken up, and who had questioned the system, had been considered ungrateful and dangerous. We'd been advised not to take them seriously.

One of the first things Beetee ever told me was that he had never been good at reading people. He also admitted he was mostly unconcerned with what people thought about him.

"It's not like they're bending over backward to share their opinions with me," he said one day. "No one has questioned my actions, or challenged my decisions since I became a victor."

He suspected most of his colleagues were weary of him. After all, they'd all seen him fry 6 of his fellow tributes in one blow. So, while he had been forced to apply his intellect to aid a cause he had never cared for, he had built a wall to protect himself against people's shortsighted opinions.

He had created a safe haven for himself, where his mind could expand and explore, unrestricted by thoughts of morality and social constraints. A place where all that mattered were the ideas that would flow freely onto the drawing board he was so generously sharing with me. Once there, his rough sketches would meet the avalanche of concepts that poured out of my brain.

We worked together for weeks, exploring, learning, discovering, fusing and creating. We developed plans and strategies that covered every single scenario we could imagine.

My father's teachings on basic human needs and behavior stayed with me through it all, and I used them to turn the contraptions Beetee had designed into powerful weapons which targeted our enemy's physical, and psychological weaknesses.

The underground garden became my sanctuary. Time seemed to stand still while I was there. I had spent the last six years taking care of my family, and I had done a damned good job at it. I knew my mother and siblings had appreciated everything I'd done to keep them alive. But I had never felt as valued and accomplished as I felt then.

And, every night, as I made my way out of the underground garden and into the dark passages which lead into the living quarters I inhabited, I felt a smile tugging at my lips. It was a welcome change from the impotence I had felt during those months when I'd been forced to work inside the stifling mines.

Unfortunately, not everything was blue skies and rainbows. Katniss's reaction to Peeta's attack wasn't what I'd expected. The fire and determination I had seen glimpses of when we visited Eight had disappeared completely from her eyes.