Monsters of Men

{VIOLA}

“What’s happening now?” Lee says, scratching underneath his bandage.

“Stop that,” I say, slapping his hand playfully, though the movement causes a terrible pain in my arm.

We’re in the healing room of the scout ship, the viewscreens on the walls showing the probes dotted around the valley. After yesterday’s too fiery attack by Mistress Braithwaite, the Mayor surprised us all by suggesting Simone lead the next mission. Mistress Coyle agreed, and Simone set to work, planning the whole thing with the absolute focus on capturing a Spackle and sending it back with a message of peace.

Which seems strange after we’ve killed so many of them to do it, but it’s been obvious since the beginning that wars make no sense. You kill people to tell them you want to stop killing them.

Monsters of men, I think. And women.

So today, Simone’s set up an even bigger diversionary tactic, positioning the probes in broad daylight to make it look like we expect the Spackle to come down one particular path from the south, where Mistress Braithwaite has planted decoy bombs, set to go off early like we made a mistake, all the while leaving another path open from the north, a path where armed women from the Answer, led by Simone, wait in hiding to capture a Spackle, hoping their lack of Noise will surprise them.

“You’re not telling me anything,” Lee says, scratching the bandage again.

“Wouldn’t it be easier for Bradley to sit here with you?” I say. “You could see what happens through him.”

“I’d rather have you,” he says.

And I see myself in his Noise, nothing too private or anything, just a better-looking version of me, cleaned and washed and fit, instead of feverish and too thin and grimy in a way that doesn’t ever seem to wash off.

He hasn’t talked about his blindness except to make jokes about it, and when there’s someone else with Noise around, he can still see through that, saying it’s almost as good as having eyes. But I’m with him a lot when he’s alone, as we both seem to live in this stupid healing room these days, and I can see it in him, see how most of his life disappeared all at once, that suddenly all he sees are memories and other people’s versions of the world.

And how he can’t even cry about it because the burns are so bad.

“When you sit there quietly,” he says. “I know you’re reading me.”

“Sorry,” I say, looking away and coughing some more. “I’m just worried. This has to work.”

“You gotta stop thinking you’re responsible,” he says. “You were protecting Todd, that’s all. If it had taken starting a war to save my mum and sister, I wouldn’t have hesitated.”

“But you can’t make war personal,” I say, “or you’ll never make the right decisions.”

“And if you didn’t make personal decisions, you wouldn’t be a person. All war is personal somehow, isn’t it? For somebody? Except it’s usually hate.”

“Lee–”

“I’m just saying how lucky he is to have someone love him so much they’d take on the whole world.” His Noise is uncomfortable, wondering what I’m looking like, how I’m responding. “That’s all I’m saying.”

“He’d do it for me,” I say quietly.

I’d do it for you, too, Lee’s Noise says.

And I know he would.

But those people who die because we do it, don’t they have people who’d kill for them?

So who’s right?

I put my head in my hands. It feels really heavy. Every day, Mistress Coyle tries new approaches to the infection, and every day I feel better for a while but then it comes back a little bit worse.

Fatal, I think.

And still weeks until the convoy gets here, if they can help at all–

There’s a sudden crackle over the comm system of the ship that makes us jump. “They’ve done it,” Bradley’s voice says, sounding surprised.

I look up. “Done what?”

“They’ve got one,” Bradley says. “To the north.”

“But,” I say, looking from screen to screen, “it’s too early. There wasn’t–”

“It wasn’t Simone.” Bradley’s voice is as confused as I am. “It was Prentiss. He captured a Spackle before we even set the plan in motion.”

[TODD]

“Mistress Coyle’s gonna be fuming,” I say, as the Mayor keeps shaking hands with soldiers who come up to congratulate him.

“I find myself strangely calm about that prospect, Todd,” he says, taking in his victory.

Cuz it turns out there was still that squadron of soldiers to the north, wasn’t there? Twiddling their thumbs, being laughed at by Spackle who snuck by ’em on a regular basis to attack the town.

Mistress Coyle forgot about ’em. So did Bradley and Simone. So did I.

The Mayor didn’t.

He watched tonight’s big plan being made over the comm by Simone and agreed on the time and place where Mistress Braithwaite could plant her decoy bombs. And then when the Spackle figured out that one part of the valley on the northern road was vulnerable to attack cuz we were busy pretending we weren’t watching the south, just like we wanted ’em to think, they sent forward a small group sneaking past our soldiers like usual, like they’ve done a dozen times before–

Except this time, they didn’t find us so agreeable.

The Mayor moved his men to exactly the right place and they surged round in a flanking movement, cutting off the Spackle’s route and mowing most of ’em down with gunfire before anyone knew what was going on.

All but two of the Spackle were killed and those two got marched thru town not twenty minutes later to a ROAR from the watching army. Mr Tate and Mr O’Hare took ’em to the horse stables behind the cathedral to wait while the Mayor finishes getting the congratulayshuns of all of New Prentisstown. I take the long, slow walk thru the crowds with him, handshakes and cheering and backslapping everywhere.

“You coulda told me,” I say, raising my voice above the clamour.

“You’re right, Todd,” he says, stopping to look at me for a minute as the people keep swarming round us. “I should have, I apologize. Next time, I will.”

And to my surprise, it sounds like he means it.

We keep on thru the crowds and eventually we make it round to the stables.

Where a couple of really angry mistresses wait.

“I demand you let us in there!” Mistress Nadari says and Mistress Lawson beside her harrumphs in agreement.