The Spirit of Why Not Kill Each Other

It started with a prank, a harmless prank. A sociology major got tired of her chemical engineering roommate talking about how easy the Arts students had it. She gagged him and tied him up in the back of an SJU classroom for the duration of a modern Canadian literature class, a God and Philosophy class, and an Honours Seminar in Educational Psychology. Six hours later, she let him go. He stumbled out, disoriented and barely able to walk, unfamiliar with that side of campus. Finally he found his way across the pond to refuge at an EngSoc meeting. “There was discussion,” he babbled in horror. “There was analysis.”

“Those bastards,” said the president. “We’ll get them for this.”

The next day, a virus sent through UW-ACE crashed most Arts students’ computers, as well as those in every Arts building on campus. When the computers finally turned on again, the screens would only show a picture of The Tool.

A FedS Arts Council member gave an interview to Imprint about how illiterate engineers and mathies worked out their insecurities by making fun of the clearly superior arts students. “Maybe if they were able to construct a complete sentence instead of communicating through grunts and farts, they wouldn’t feel the need to resort to violence,” he said.

He was found dead the following morning, hung by a pink tie in the middle of the SLC.

It was war. It may have seemed sudden, but the tensions had been building since 1957. The mathies and Science sided with the engineers, AHS and Social Work with Arts. The Faculty of Environment declared themselves a neutral party. “We’re interdisciplinary,” they claimed, although their sympathies were believed to lie with the artsies. The administration turned a blind eye. They had been artsies and engies once themselves.

Peter Bradley wanted no part of the conflict. He just wanted to study, get good grades, and go home. Although he was a history major, he felt no ill will toward engineers; his girlfriend, Lisa Chong, was in software engineering. The two of them were eating lunch together at one of the tables in DC when they heard the gunshot.

“All the Arts students, out!” a guy in a leather Engineering jacket yelled, gun still pointed at the ceiling. A group of similarly dressed students surrounded him. “We’re checking WatCards. Get out now if you don’t want to get hurt.”

Peter gaped. Some people around the couple were getting up, not waiting to be told a second time. Peter started to move, but Lisa grabbed his arm. “Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t have to go anywhere.”

“Arts students, go to DP! You’re not welcome here anymore.” The group of engineers broke up and started to stalk through the library, demanding ID from every student.

“I think I’d be more comfortable leaving,” Peter said.

The militant engineers reached their table. “WatCards, please.”

Everyone but Peter cheerfully complied. The engineers looked at him. “I forgot it at home, but I’m an engineer,” he said. “Actually, I don’t even go here. I - ”

One of them grabbed his backpack, quickly finding his wallet. “Arts!” the engineer said.

“No! I’m a double major. I swear to Minota Hagey.”

“You can’t double major in Engineering. And no one but an artsie would know the name Minota Hagey. Now get out before we change our minds about going easy on you.”

Within the day, DC belonged completely to the engineering faction. Arts took DP; there were no books worth checking out at DC anyway, they said. The SLC was an uneasy no-man’s-land. Health Services shut down entirely, posting a sign to go to the hospital with any serious war wounds. Ring Road was sealed off at both University and Columbia so that no outsiders could get onto campus. The residences were unofficially rearranged so that the two sides wouldn’t have to share floors. There was overlap in Mudie’s and Revelations, but there was nothing to be done about it other than to eat as fast as possible and leave.

Classes went on as usual.

In Lisa’s UWP room that night, Peter said, “Maybe we shouldn’t be seen together in public anymore. I don’t think the fanatics are going to understand an inter-faculty romance.”

“You’re so silly,” Lisa said, snuggling up to him. “I don’t care what anybody thinks.”

“I’m not saying we should break up; we should just be careful. We could be putting our lives at risk!”

Lisa frowned. “Are you saying you wouldn’t catch a grenade for me? You wouldn’t jump in front of a train for me?”

“No,” Peter said. “I wouldn’t. Not if there’s an alternative that doesn’t involve getting killed.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Lisa laughed. “They’re only killing FedS representatives and student union executives at this point.”

Peter shook his head. “I didn’t want to tell you this, but I heard some artsies talking about how they’re planning to firebomb the Comfy Lounge tomorrow at lunch.”

“You weren’t going to tell me? I thought you told me everything.”

“That’s it!” Peter exclaimed, realizing the implications of what Lisa had said. “We should both be spies. If I bring you information from Arts and you bring me information from Engineering, we can bring it to the leaders of the faculties. If they both know what the other is up to, no one can get hurt too badly.”

The Arts faction’s headquarters was on the fifth floor of Dana Porter. There were daily meetings, between which the floor functioned as shared space for students to meet and plan. At the moment, the place was packed. The purple chairs in front of all of the computers were occupied by students researching and writing battle plans. Some students were paging through books in the study carrels, and the tables were taken by groups loudly brainstorming together.

Peter came out of the stairwell, slightly out of breath, and surveyed the situation. A short girl with bright red hair, a number of white teeth dangling from a chain around her neck, went up to him immediately. “Hi there! Are you new here?”

“Yeah,” he said, showing her his Watcard. “Peter Bradley. What can I do to help?”

“Thanks for coming out! I’m the leader here. My name’s Everly and I’m in 2B PACS. Right now we’ve got RPW students writing a manifesto for Imprint; we’re hoping to sway some Math and Science students to our side. We’ve got linguistics specialists looking for codes hidden in the latest issues of the Iron Warrior and mathNEWS. There’s a group of Medieval Studies majors researching torture devices and how we could improvise some.” Everly smiled. “Everyone’s contributions are valuable!”

Peter mentally filed away the information. “Well, I’m a history major. Maybe I could research what offensive and defensive tactics were used in some famous battles.”

“Perfect!” Everly patted his arm encouragingly. “I’ve got to run to class now, but just ask anyone if you have questions!”

That night, Peter reported everything he had found out to Lisa, who dutifully promised to take the intelligence to the Engineering leaders. She had been to Engineering headquarters as well, but she was less forthcoming with what she found out. “They weren’t really specific,” she said. “Bombs, guns, you know.”

“They must have been planning something. Come on, think!”

“Okay,” Lisa said. “Fine. You know the legal studies faculty-student Bomber night tomorrow?” She paused. “The faculty aren’t going to come out of it alive.”

With Peter’s information, the Arts students organized for the Bomber night. They would check Watcards at the door, and each faculty member would have an armed bodyguard. “No one is getting hurt tonight,” Everly said. Peter looked at the teeth on her chain; there seemed to be more than there had been the day before. “No artsies, anyway.”

But the night passed without a single engineer trying to get into Bomber.

“A bad tip,” Everly said to Peter. “It happens. Don’t worry about it.”

Peter shook his head. “My girl– My source wouldn’t have given me bad information.”

Everly jumped, then pulled a vibrating cell phone out of her pocket. She picked it up and had a quick conversation, then sombrely called for attention. “The French Students Society movie night was invaded,” she said quietly. “No one survived.”

“No!” Peter couldn’t understand what had happened. It took him a few minutes to figure it out.

At the Arts meeting the next day, Everly orated passionately about the lost students and about the need to move forward. “We got a bad tip last night, but it won’t happen again.”

“That’s right,” Peter said, lowering his eyes. “The person who gave it to me isn’t in my life anymore.”

“Nobody blames you, Peter,” Everly said. “It could happen to anyone.” She raised her voice, speaking to the group now. “But I think I speak for everyone when I say, I’m sick of this war. Let’s win it, once and for all!” A cheer rose.

“I’ve spoken to the Engineering leader,” she continued. “Tomorrow, we’re going to face off against the engineers on the V1 green. We fight to the death; any survivors on the losing side will be taken prisoner and forced to do our homework. The side that loses, loses the war.”

The rest of the day was spent strategizing, planning what weapons to bring and what manoeuvres to use. The group would have worked long into the night, but the lights were dimmed at 10:45, and at 11 sharp a librarian came to the floor. “Closing time, folks.”

The morning was warm and clear. The battle was due to start at 9, but by 8:30 it was already packed with students eager to fight. It looked like every undergrad in the entire university was on the green. Students had come back from co-op terms across the entire GTA, excited for the chance to shed a little blood. Off to one side, a small orchestra of music majors played battle songs. Geese strolled around unfazed, occasionally honking along with the music.

As far as Peter could see, there were young people armed with improvised weapons: hockey sticks, baseball bats, what looked like a set of nunchucks made from two beer bottles and a necklace. The engineers, all in their leather jackets, carried matching homemade machine guns. It took Peter a few minutes to find the group of students he knew from headquarters. When he saw Everly, she had some kind of blade stuck in her belt. “What’s that? A machete?”

“No, silly!” she said, pulling it out and waving it around proudly. “It’s a falchion.”

Peter hadn’t brought anything, except an old textbook he figured might work as a shield. He knew that nothing could stop the bloodthirsty students now, but he still hoped that the battle would somehow be averted. He couldn’t stand the idea of killing anyone, even an engineer.

Everly left the small group to run around the field with a loudspeaker, trying to pep up the crowd. “Hey hey! Ho ho! Engineers’ lives have got to go!”

The battle was due to begin at 9. At 8:45, Everly started to put the Arts faction into the planned formation. Peter couldn’t deal with it. He sat down by himself to think, a little apart from the crowd. He was staring into space when he saw the line of people marching toward the field from the south. It was a huge group; there must have been a thousand people. Arts was already there; Engineering was already there. Who else could such a large group be?

As Peter looked on, the leader of the new group seemed to tell the group to stop. Alone, he came forward. Everly and the Engineering leader went to meet him.

“My name is Ryan Astor. I’m the president of the Laurier Students’ Union,” he said, yelling into his own loudspeaker so that everyone could hear him. He fingered his popped collar nervously. “I have with me every undergraduate from Wilfrid Laurier University.”

It wasn’t a thousand people, Peter realized. It was more like eleven thousand.

Ryan Astor continued. “Laurier is here to support Arts.”

“Say what?” Everly said.

“Like UW’s Arts students, we hate the lack of respect we get from the arrogant engineers. We are not a high school. We are a university, and one with a solid reputation and challenging classes. We’ve come to fight on your side.”

Everly might have welcomed the support. Peter would never know. He did the only thing he could think of that might possibly make a difference.

He laughed.

He laughed as hard and as loud as he could, and when the laugh spread to other people he yelled, “Laurier? Really?”

The laugh was catching on; it seemed that everyone on either side was giggling, chuckling, or outright guffawing. “Hell no!” Peter yelled from his spot on the sidelines. Everly was red-faced from trying to hold her own snigger in. “Go back to your high school,” she said as seriously as she could. Then she burst out laughing.

The Engineering leader shook Everly’s hand, wiping tears from his eyes. “Let’s call this whole thing off,” he said. “We may have our differences, but we can agree on one thing.”

“At least we’re not Laurier!”

All around Peter, people were holstering their weapons. The Laurier students were retreating; Ryan Astor looked like he might be crying behind his aviator glasses. Slowly but visibly, the Engineering and Arts factions merged and mixed; soon Peter couldn’t tell there had been different sides at all.

Everly was giving a new speech to a blended crowd. “We may be Arts, and they may be engineers, but we all get our marks on Quest, we all eat lunch at Brubaker’s, and we all pick up our OSAP at Needles Hall!”

Peter still sat alone, still laughing quietly to himself. Lisa appeared out of the crowd. “Peter,” she said, “I miss you. I’m so sorry about what I did. Can we get back together?”

Peter looked at her; this time, his laughter was spontaneous and sincere. “When pigs fly,” he said when he managed to catch his breath. “When UW isn’t better than Laurier.”