The Capitol has technology beyond the reach, even the imagination, of many in the districts. Finnick, though, has been in and out of the Capitol for the past ten years, as tribute, as victor, as mentor. He's familiar with a wider range of their technology than most from the districts, and they have hovercraft, but nothing capable of leaving the planet.

The whole concept is surreal, so surreal that for a moment he wonders if he'd been sabotaged, given some sort of hallucinogen, though she'd insisted no drugs.

He tenses, not with a readiness to spring, but with a caution as he tries to both study his surroundings and keep this cool, red-headed woman in his view. The clothes are unlike those in the Capitol, some of them like and some unlike certain of the districts.

The view of stars moving past outside the window holds his attention for slightly longer than is wise before Finnick drags his gaze back to the woman.

He's suffered and perpetrated too many lies and deceptions to so easily believe her, and it's only years of doing just that, of living the constant lie of the glamor of victory in the Games, that stops his unease from showing in his body language.

"I find it easier to believe the Capitol would try to sabotage a tribute than that I'm suddenly not in Panem."