Number One

One watches her carefully; body language said...suspicion? Must be naturally suspicious. That could go both ways for the woman, if she was brought into S31. It would need to be something One watched more.

"Thank you for meeting me, captain," he returned, not feeling quite right to be calling her "Number One." His number one after all, was not going to be her. 

"Not behind at all. Everything is on schedule -- so far." Enough Fleet superstition had rubbed off on her over the years that the qualifier felt necessary. Plus, she knew her Chief of Engineering. If Caitlyn thought she could get her hands on some of those new engine couplings they were developing for the Enterprise, she would, and she would call in every favor she had to see the Leonid in dock for an extra week to install them.

      Not that one made any indent in her mountain of worries. 

This was never supposed to have happened. Nyota and Jim -- they were supposed to be safe. She had seen them go in to the arena, like so many others, but they had come out, they had survived. 

          As much as anyone ever survived the arena. 

It was the most brilliant move the Capital could have made. In a twisted way, One could have swallowed the year after year of loosing people, if the ones who survived were safe. It was the sort of complacency the Capital had relied on for so long; and now they were overturning it. 

Whatever happened, Panen would not be the same after this. 

She glanced up as Number One mentioned Jim (what even was her real name? Why did she hide it?) and lifted her chin. “Yes. I am. As I do every day. He wants to be ready…”

Really, Number One was the last person Carol needed to fear so long as she harm Jim. Of course, if she did harm Jim, the list was inverted -- One was THE person she'd have to fear.

"Good." Even if One didn't....approve of their romance, she could harmly disapprove of Jim having the chance to practice daily with one of the strongest, best trained persons in all of Panem. 

She wouldn’t, however, force them to see that. If they didn’t believe her, fine. That was their problem, not hers. She would not waste her time and energy trying to convince them of something that they would never believe. And her attention was required else where. She stalked past One, glaring at her for a little longer than necessary and placing the bow back on the rack, before grabbing the sword and cutting it through the air with a flourish.

Intimidation worked both ways.

"Then I’m sure you’ll be impressed. After all, we’ve got the gang back together again…" 

"Of course." One watched the movement of the sword as it sliced through the air -- there was no criticism to be made there. Marcus was good, even if she'd never had to actually use that skill off a practice mat, anywhere where it remotely mattered.

"Careful. What a blow it would be to 'The Gang' if you spend the next weeks being fitted for a new arm." It wasn't a thread, just an observation. Somewhere in the back of her mind, it occured to her it might even be a genuine warning. Would being the daughter of Alexander Marcus truly be enough if the Capital wanted to strike at Jim through her?

Somehow she doubted it. Then again, she doubted the Capital had any limits at all. 

It was no surprise that not many of the Tributes trusted Carol Marcus. With her father being a Gamemaker, and a well known one at that, it was hardly surprising and she couldn’t blame them for that. It took a while to convince them she wasn’t her father; she was here to advise, to help them. Some got the message, others didn’t. 

Number One (Carol didn’t know her real name…) was one of them. But knowing the reason why, she hadn’t given up that fight a long time ago.

      Then again, Marcus couldn't possibly hope to understand. Not when all she'd done her entire life was profit off of those same traps, and then design them herself.

There was of course lots that Carol Marcus could help Number One with; anything from making a trap that instead of killing children passed out candy and extra food instead, to not playing whatever game she was playing with Jim, to shooting her father and dropping dead herself. There were lots of things Marcus could do for One; there were very few she would ever do. 

"Merely seeing what the training looks like this year," One said. Neither Jim nor Nyota focused on the bow, it was true, but the Arena was just as much about an opponents weakness is it was your own strength. As their mentor, it was her duty to know exactly what they were facing. 

It had become increasingly clear that Carol Marcus was no Katniss Everdeen. She had to admit her skill with a bow was less than brilliant, but then, the girl seemed to have some natural affinity for it. It had been bred into her it seems, or at least, a bow had been present in her hands since she was child…

Carol was good; she had to be. She didn’t just get her job because of her father. In fact, her father wanted her no where near the Tributes but Carol insisted.

She might be able to help. Even a little.

Archery, however, was probably her weakest asset. Oh she could advise you, make you better, as she could with any of those weapons but she could never quite get the feel of a bow. The sword was her weapon of choice; traditional, close combat, required skill, practice, effort. She was a Marcus after all…

Carol let loose the arrow, still hitting her target, and well, but no where near with the perfection the Girl on Fire could…

Oops. Carol shouldn’t think of her like that.

The door opened. Carol smiled softly, expecting her next pupil and trying to put them at ease; she had got some idea of the years of what they must be feeling but even she knew she would never be able to truly experience their fear.

Some simply said destruction was her forte. The Capital was never too insistent on her coming to the Capital for visits. 

No, it was't for any improvement or affection for the bow that brought Number One to Carol Marcus's training room, slipping in between scheduled sessions. It was Carol Marcus herself who brought her here.

  [ Perhaps she was about to say something more, but then she decides against it ]

   ...I trust Mr. Spock is well. 

(Kirk gives a modest smirk)

(Kirk extends his hand)

Talosians…

I understand. 

   Wait --