The Drowned Cities by Paolo Bacigalupi

collect meds first. Needed to get away clean. And if she ran, what would happen to the doctor?
    There was no way she could just bolt, even if they stopped watching her so closely. It was an impossible trap, with no good solution. Mahlia started scrubbing again, ramming her frustration into the work.
    Boot steps, coming close. Mahlia’s skin prickled, but she didn’t look up. The boots stopped right in front of her, standing in the blood, blocking her work. Soa. She was sure of it.
    She steeled herself and looked up.
    He stood over her, smiling slightly. “You got a problem cleaning up our blood? Think you’re too good or something?”
    Mahlia shook her head.
    “You sure? ’Cause I saw you making a face.” Soa knelt down and ran his fingers through the blood, lifting them up in front of her face. “You think you’re too good to clean up the blood of patriots?”
    He reached out and slowly ran his fingers down her cheek, smearing her. “Think you’re too good for us?” he asked. “Think we’re just animals? That’s what you peacekeepersalways used to say, right? Called us animals? Called us dogs?” He dipped his fingers in the blood again and touched her forehead. Stroking her with wet fingertips.
    Mahlia struggled not to flinch at the soldier boy’s touch. It was what Soa wanted. He wanted her to act disgusted. Wanted her to act like she was above them. And if she did, she knew he’d kill her. Kill her for spite.
    Soa didn’t even have a soul. He was just a snake looking for an excuse to bite.
    “I don’t want to fight,” Mahlia said. “You want me to clean, I’ll clean. I don’t want to fight.”
    “Don’t want to fight.” Soa laughed. “More of that peacekeeper talk.” He dipped his fingers in blood again, marked her other cheek. Gave her a sharp shove, almost a slap. “Got a surrender slogan for me? One of those peacekeeper sayings? ‘An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind?’ Some shit like that?”
    Behind Mahlia, someone sniggered. Others were watching. All of them waiting to see what Soa would do next.
    “Well?” Soa asked. “You got a surrender slogan? I’m waiting.”
    She knew what he was referring to. When she was little, the slogans were everywhere, painted on the walls of the city. The peacekeepers paid local people to put them up, trying to buy some goodwill and make people think about how they’d gotten themselves into the mess they were in, but the pictures and sayings always ended up gettingscrawled with militia and warlord battle flags, and eventually the peacekeepers gave up.
    Mahlia cleared her throat, hunting for one that wouldn’t set Soa off.
    “ ‘Disarm to farm’?”
    “That a question?”
    Mahlia shook her head. “ ‘Disarm to farm,’ ” she repeated. A statement this time.
    Soa grinned, wild eyes. “Oh yeah. I remember that one. That was a good one. All those peacekeeper soldiers giving rice and corn and soybeans if you’d just turn in a gun. I traded them an old .22 for a sack of rice I was supposed to go out and plant. Firing pin was all rusted out, and you suckers still paid.”
    “I traded a .45, didn’t even have bullets,” another said.
    “What was their whole thing?” Soa asked the group. “Our girl’s having a hard time remembering.”
    “ ‘Turn the other cheek,’ ” someone said.
    “ ‘Beat your swords into plowshares!’ ”
    “ ‘Only animals tear each other apart!’ ”
    More and more slogans poured out, the good intentions of the peacekeepers turned into a grand joke that soon had every soldier boy doubled over laughing as they named slogan after slogan. Every saying the peacekeepers had used as they tried to quell the violence of the Drowned Cities.
    When their mirth died, Soa stared into Mahlia’s eyes. “You peacekeepers thought we were stupid. Thought we’d just letforeigners take us over. Make us into slaves. But we knew what you were up to all along. We don’t roll over; we fight for our country.” Soa