Soldier

Part 2

District 3 is booming with industry. The apartment complexes, vehicles, and roaring machines almost remind me of the Capitol; except that people here look normal. My shaved head immediately conveys to everyone that I don't fit in with them. But my clothes make up for it. Puffy dresses, wigs and tall high heels? Uh, no. I'm comfortable wearing a printed shirt, jeans, and boots.

The man I came to see is just outside the train station. His head of black hair is facing downward, absorbed with something on his tablet.

"Hey, Beetee," I say.

Though Beetee Latier endured and won the Hunger Games, he's in a pretty good state of mind. Perhaps it's because he killed the final six tributes with an electric trap. He never actually had to fight. Ever. We met in the Capitol, where he sometimes teaches computer classes. I've learned so much about technology from him.

When I speak, he looks up. "Oh. Hey, Cressida. I was just checking some details about my newest project for the Capitol. Welcome to District Three."

"Glad to be here," I reply, smiling. "Thanks for meeting on such short notice."

"I don't mind a bit. Being me, my schedule's always flexible."

We leave the train station, walking towards Beetee's apartment in the Victors' Penthouse- which also doubles as his office.

"What's your new Capitol project?" I ask him.

"The Quarter Quell. They're remodeling the Training Center, and yours truly will be the head electrician."

How twisted. Over twenty years ago, they drew Beetee's name in a very unlucky raffle; fully expecting that it would lead to his death. Now he works for them?

I guess the Capitol has a game of its own. Persuasion.

When Beetee opens his door, we enter the living room. The beautiful fireplace mantle (Capitol-made, of course) is decorated with pictures of Beetee and his family. He married another District 3 victor, Wiress Plummer. They've got a son named Beck- twelve years old, I think. Inside a glass display case, I see Wiress and Beetee's Victory Tour portraits. Their crowns lay beside them, polished, constructed of real gold. But we pass the living room, into Beetee's office.

"Whoa."

It's not just his equipment that impresses me. The whole room, from ceiling to floor, is covered in red tally marks.

"Wiress did that," Beetee says as he powers up his computer. "Each of those represents a fallen tribute."

"It's... beautiful."

"Thanks," a childish, female voice replies. Wiress herself stands by the door.

"Hey, Wiress," I say.

"Here to help," she tells me.

It was a closed adoption, but I do know that Cressida is what my real mom wanted to name me. Raphael and Selene honored this wish so I'd have at least some piece of her.

"If we have any chance of discovering your roots," Beetee explains, "it'll be in the DNA. So, I need a sample. Wiress is going to take it to the lab next door, and then, we'll match it to Panem's entire database of birth records. They collect DNA from every baby when he or she is born, no matter if they go home with their biological parents or not."

Wiress hands me a little tube with a cotton swab inside. "Make it good."

After swiping the roof of my mouth, I give Wiress the DNA sample.

"Be right back," she says.

While Beetee logs into the birth records database, endless possibilities fly through my brain. Am I originally from the Capitol? I doubt it. Barely ten percent of the country's population lives there. They don't bother with the outer districts, so, most likely, I was born in some district around the Capitol borders. Could it be District 1? District 2? District 5? Or have I already returned home, to District 3?

Soon, Beetee's computer pings.

"We found you," he says. "Just to corroborate this info, tell me your full name and birthdate."

"Cressida Natalie Dormer; born October Twenty-Fifth in the year Twenty-One Thirty-Seven."

And then, Beetee, who always seems to be aware of things before anybody else is, opens his mouth in shock.

"It all makes sense now," he mutters.

"What makes sense?" I ask.

"Cressida... I know your mother. You look exactly like she did, back when..."

"Back when...?"

"Back when she won the Hunger Games."