On Earth, the use of force to deal with civil disobedience only resulted in more of that disobedience, and at times, something worse. Yet in light of what would be known as the "Peace Massacre," the opposite was true, at least in the immediate sense. Why was that the case?

The reason is simple. Rhyldan isn't Earth. With the onset of winter, dwindling food supplies, and the threat of lesoo, people put life before liberty. The Council had the guns. The Council had the authority. And the Council was ruling over a small society that had to cooperate from day one to survive. On that day, three centuries after leaving Earth and nearly fifty years post-settlement, Obore Daniels's rebel movement died.

As did sixty-five other people.

A History of Rhyldan (excerpt)

The Repopulation: The Price of Freedom

Chapter 7: Solitude

"Was it always like this?"

"As in, a Peacekeeper standing by the gate? The lack of any troopers beside me? These greys?"

"Greys look kinda good actually. Way better than your old duster."

"I respectfully disagree on that."

It wasn't a lie, Obore reflected. He did miss his duster. The CP gear had the benefit of better body armour, but it was winter, and the duster would have actually had a chance of keeping him warm. And he missed it because of other reasons. Because wearing these greys, wearing the uniform that had snuck its way into Plymouth over the months as per the merging of Civil Protection with other branches…it was a reminder. A reminder that he was back to doing the Council's work, the protection of Plymouth's citizens being incidental. It was a reminder of the loss of individuality. It was a reminder of how, like the Peacekeeper standing by the gate leading out of Plymouth, swivelling on its axis with its cannons drifting with its body, he was part of the system.

And he hated it.

"Anyway," Emily said, following Obore as he made his way over to the gatehouse, "you'll be pleased to know that your different settlement idea is starting to pick up steam."

"How much steam?"

"A few hundred on the petition at last count. But it's early days yet."

"Yeah," Obore murmured. "Early days."

Emily sighed. "Look, you could try to be a bit more enthusiastic. I mean-"

"What it means," Obore said, "is that people are willing to sign a piece of paper. It doesn't mean that they'll actually make the jump to joining a new settlement."

"But it's a sign of defiance. A reminder to the Council that we're not going to forget the Peace Massacre."

"Right," Obore said, gesturing at the Peacekeeper near the gate behind him as they walked over to the gatehouse. The same kind of automaton that had led to the "Peace Massacre," as it had been dubbed, in the first place. "Because right now, that's all the defiance we can muster."

Obore ignored Emily's protests as they kept walking, the snow crunching under their feet. Two weeks had passed since he'd been reinstated as a patroller, though since everything was under CP now, "reinstated" wasn't quite the correct term. In those two weeks, Kjell had dismissed his idea of a sister settlement every time he asked. In those two weeks, he'd gone on seven patrols, always alone, operating in the same territory he had when he could count on Dinh and Jayne to be at his side. In those two weeks, he'd had Emily spread the word.

"Private Daniels?"

And he wanted to believe it would come to something. He really did. But day after day, it was getting harder to see that.

"Private?"

"Yeah," he said, reflecting on his new rank, the old offer of sergeant having gone the same way as his sense of self-worth. "Hit me."

Roberto looked at him funny, and Obore looked back. The man looked older, had a beard, and was wearing a beanie over his head, rubbing gloved hands together in the winter chill. The physical changes weren't that drastic, but it felt like they hadn't seen each other in years. Not the months that had passed since Obore had last passed through the gate on patrol. Even two weeks into the job and Roberto still felt like a stranger.

"Here," Roberto said, handing Obore a pistol and spare clip. Obore holstered them.

"And this," Roberto continued,, placing a rifle on the gatehouse counter along with a pair of clips, "is the M-seven-seven. Latest model."

"Right," Obore said, pocketing the two clips, wondering what the difference was between all the other rifles he'd used in the past. "How nice of the Council to get on with the job of providing better weapons. Coulda used it a year or so ago but-"

"See this baby on the side?" Roberto asked, apparently oblivious to Obore's contempt. He pressed a button on the rifle's right, a terminal popping out of it. It displayed a red dot that Obore supposed was his location, and a line of blue dots that made their way out of the city. "Topographic display of the area. No more getting lost or deviation from the patrol route."

Obore remained silent, appreciating the difference that did indeed exist. All this tech, all this body armour…in the old days, he would have given anything for it. Now…as he slung the rifle over his shoulder, he felt dirty just wearing it. As if he was endorsing the Council's militarization of Plymouth in light of all the damage that militarization had caused in the first place.

Or you caused.

Obore winced. He was working for the Council. Being the good lapdog Kjell wanted him to be. And deep down, on some level, that level reserved for guilt, doubt, and memory, he felt...that he deserved it.

"Oh, and Obore?" Roberto called out after him. "Keep it up, alright."

"Yeah, sure. Patrol."

"No, I mean, the good fight." Obore looked around and Roberto smiled after glancing at the Peacekeeper. "I mean…well that…y'know…you did good…know what the Council says about your followers but…"

"Roberto, I…" Obore trailed off. And slowly smiled. "Thanks."

He turned around, finding Emily waiting for him. Before them was the Rhyldan wilderness, its trees and grass covered in snow. The Peacekeeper at the gate, not appearing as intimidating anymore. Months of civil unrest had taken its toll, and the forest had crept back over summer. He liked it.

"You're smiling," Emily said. "That looks good on you."

"Yeah," Obore said. "It comes and goes."

"I've noticed." She glanced at the Peacekeeper. "Is it really okay to talk like this?"

"The Council knows you Emily, in a way, that makes you safe," Obore said. "They know we're talking, it's the unknowns that they're worried about. Me, I'm to set an example to them. You, they're watching."

"And that probably includes the petition."

"Kjell's covering his arse," Obore said, recalling the conversation he'd had with the man two years ago. "The Peacekeepers screwed up. He knows it, the people know it, hell, he's probably even genuinely guilty about it."

"Can't blame him." Emily sighed. "Y'know, sometimes…I feel guilty too. I mean, we…I…started this." She swallowed. "Murphy, Boggs, so many others…they paid the price for that."

"The Peacekeepers pulled the trigger," Obore said. "The Council created them when they could have just as easily re-created the people we wanted returned to us." He put a hand on their shoulder. "I get doubts too. But they fired first. And whatever happens, don't ever forget that."

"And…and Michael?" she whispered, a tear coming down her cheek. "Am I just to remember him for the rest of my life as well?"

"Right now, I don't know how long our lives will be, or how many other chances we'll get," Obore said. "But for now…yeah, remember. Remembering's good."

And with that he turned around, ready to head out into the wilderness. And would have done so if Emily hadn't put a hand on his shoulder.

"By the way," she said. "I never said thank you."

"What for?"

She hugged him. Quickly, non-committedly. "For everything."

Obore remained silent. Everything he'd done. He'd done things for centuries. Done more in the past few months than anything else. And that…that was something he had to live with. For reasons both good and ill.

But seeing Emily's smile, seeing the people dying in his memory, seeing Jayne's face…living with it wasn't so hard right now.

Because he owed it to everyone who wasn't still alive to do so.

"Zulu-One, what is your status?"

"On patrol, seven klicks into route."

"Roger that. Control out."

Obore winced as he pocketed the radio. Control. There was never a "control" back in the good ol' days. Teams operated together, but there was no enforced radio contact with Plymouth. The opportunity existed, and he'd done so to report Jayne's death, but apart from that…

Jayne…

But that was then. This was now. And now…Obore kicked some snow aside as he made his way through the forest. Now he had to report in every fifteen minutes. Not a bad idea as far as lesoo went. But he knew better. Knew that he was reporting in because while the Council wanted him operating for them, they also wanted to keep him on a leash.

Obore kept moving, ducking under some branches but still nudging them, causing snow to fall on his neck. Shivering, he almost wished there were lesoo out here. Lesoo were the enemy. An enemy that, he reflected, had good reason to hate humanity. Humanity had come to their world. Humanity was a race of occupiers. And if the lesoo could see what humanity was capable of doing to its own kind…Obore tightened the grip on his rifle. Lesoo were brutal, but he'd never heard of them turning on their own kind.

He kept moving. Shivering in the post-midday air. Watching his breath appear before him. Checking that he was still on his assigned route.

Follow the blue, follow the blue…ugh, the Yellow Brick Road had so much more charm to it.

Was there a blue road in that film? Obore couldn't remember. Couldn't even remember its name. He'd seen it, on Earth…there was a road…yellow, he recalled…a girl had been there, with companions…

Dottie?

He laughed. Companions. He looked to his left. No Dinh Long. No version of the man who was now his enemy. The man who last he heard, had become a lieutenant, calling the shots from Plymouth. He looked to his right. No Jayne Chelsea. No friend. No…no…

Obore stopped. Jayne. Months of bloodshed, of conflict, of bringing Plymouth to the brink. And now…now he was even further from getting Jayne back then when he first learnt her cloning was being postponed. And even now, he missed her. Taking a swig from his water flask, he reflected why. Jayne was a link to something old. A simpler time. A time when he and the rest of Charlie Squad could have walked these woods together. A time when he was serving the Council, the people of Rhyldan, and their values. A time long past.

Is it really?

He took another sip. Life, in spite of the ease of cloning. Liberty, for all the risks it posed to that life. Family…something humanity had lost, and as he discovered, wanted again by so many. Service, stability, and security. Kjell's values. Values he even appreciated. Values that had been subverted.

And solitude?

Solitude. What he could never have in Plymouth. What he had now. Something that…he sighed. Something…he tossed the flask into the snow. Something that made him realize how empty these woods were. How empty the world was.

"Damn it!"

He threw his rifle to the ground.

"Damn it!"

He punched a tree. Again and again, drawing blood each time as his flesh made contact with its hardened bark. Again. And again.

He only stopped when the bullet hit him in the back.

Obore grunted and tumbled down. His back was numb. His body felt cold. And-

Shot. Gunfire.

Gunfire erupted all around him. On instinct, he began to crawl.

The rifle!

He glanced around, seeing both his rifle, and the trail of blood he was leaving behind. He reached for it. And felt a bullet tear through his arm.

"Gah!"

Obore recoiled and began crawling again. The bullets continued to fly. Bullets fired from rifles he deduced, given the rate of gunfire and the sound they were making.

Lesoo. Fucking lesoo!

"Control, this is Zulu-One!" he yelled into his radio, holding it with his left arm while his right continued to bleed. "Under fire by lesoo! Please respond!"

There was only static.

"Control, this is Zulu-One, respond!"

The static continued.

"Control!"

Obore got to his feet. The gunfire continued, but the forest was so thick, he could only see muzzle flashes from the rifles rather than the individuals firing them. As best he could, he drew out his sidearm. As best he could, he fired some shots, though with his right arm bleeding out, his aim was off. And the gunfire kept coming.

Shit!

Obore ran. Still trying the radio. Still receiving nothing but static.

"Control, this is-"

And fell again as another bullet tore through his back again. Through both his body armour, and his flesh. Yelling, he tumbled into the snow. Wishing he had his rifle.

The rifle? The same rifle that led me here?

Obore felt cold. And not just because of the weather or the blood loss.

The map. The assigned path. The radio. They-

More gunfire came his way, but in shorter, controlled bursts. Either the attackers were running out of ammo, or…Obore swallowed…they knew they had him cornered.

Not like this, Obore thought, reaching for his pistol. Not like this!

But it was. Because another bullet tore through his right arm. Obore yelled as he felt the bullet tear through muscle and bone. Yelled in pain. Frustration. Despair. Cursed.

And fell silent as the lesoo emerged from the forest. Because they weren't lesoo.

They were human. Three of them.

Led by Dinh Long.

"Dinh…" Obore whispered. "What the hell are you-"

Dinh fired a single shot from his pistol. It hit Obore's right leg. And Obore screamed.

"Control, this is Alpha-One," Obore heard Long say. "Target found."

"Dinh…"

"Roger that. Will proceed."

"Dinh, don't-"

Dinh shot him in his left leg, blood spurting out onto the snow. Obore didn't scream this time. He felt too cold…and tired…for that. But not so cold and tired that he couldn't meet Dinh in the eye as he knelt down before him.

"Time's up Obore," he said. He grabbed him by the neck, pulling him forward. And Obore found a pistol pressed to his forehead.

"A quick death," Dinh continued. "Like the one you should have given Jayne."

"Don't…bring…Jayne…"

"What?" Dinh asked. "Don't bring her into this? Well tough shit Obore, you brought her into this the moment you began your temper tantrum."

"Dinh-"

"Don't," he said, getting to his feet. "It's over. I know what the Council did, to both me and the people the day the Peacekeepers opened fire. I've also seen what you've done."

"I didn't…do…"

Dinh sighed. "Let's cut to the chase," he said. "The Council wants you dead. I'm the executioner. Your memories will be uploaded from your judair, transferred into a database, and otherwise erased. The Council will know everyone you talked too over the last three months. Every member of your rabble, everyone who they might have to…take notice of."

"That's…that's…"

"You, however, will be the unfortunate victim of a lesoo ambush."

Obore coughed. The breath misted before him again. He looked up at Dinh.

"Why?" he whispered.

"Why what?"

"Why…all this?" he whispered. "You want me dead, fine. But…" He coughed again, and this time, blood came out. Falling onto the snow like red rain. "This isn't you Dinh."

Dinh sighed.

"The old Dinh…"

"Stop," he whispered. "I told you before, I don't care. The old Dinh Long…he's dead. Just like you are. You're the last Obore Daniels of this make. If, for whatever reason, the Council clones you, the new one will have none of your memories. He'll be a new man. A better man." His gaze narrowed. "You shouldn't have a problem with that, should you?"

Obore laughed, even as blood came out of his mouth. Laughed at the thought of being the "new" Obore Daniels, just as the "new" Dinh Long had been anything but the old.

"So…I die. And get cloned." He coughed. "Do you think there's an afterlife Dinh? You think that there's room for two Dinh Longs up there? Or out there?"

Dinh stared at him.

"I mean…if we're the sum of our memories…and those memories are cut off forever…is that a different soul? Are we effectively creating more than one soul for the same body?"

Dinh sighed. "Don't try philosophy Obore. It doesn't suit you."

"You're…right…" Obore said, coughing again. It was like being back in the jailhouse. Only then he was coughing up phlegm rather than blood. He closed his eyes. "I'm…I'm…"

He couldn't answer. Obore Daniels had died so many times. Every death he lost a little bit of his old self. And this…he wanted to think that it would be no different. That Dinh was making idle threats.

But he couldn't. And he felt a chill run through his body that had nothing to do with the winter air or blood loss. He felt small. He felt afraid.

And he felt a gun be pressed against his forehead. He felt tears in his eyes, a betrayal of his bravado. He felt his heart beating. Felt his thoughts drift to Jayne. Emily. Murphy. Boggs. The Council. Everyone. Anyone who knew him. The old him. Obore Daniels.

He could see the garden, and for one moment, one fleating moment, he was no longer in the snow. He was in the garden. He was warm. He could hear the birds. He could see the green leaves. The blue sky.

"Obore?"

He could hear the voice. He could see the blur. Could see a woman. Black hair. Brown eyes. Similar height and build.

Jenni. My sister.

His sister. The one he had to leave behind. The one he'd forgotten. Like Earth. Like so many.

"Goodbye Obore."

He heard the voice. But whether it was Jenni's, or Dinh's, he could not tell. And it was overshadowed by the sound of a gun clicking.

"Goodbye," he whispered.

Nor did he know who his own words were directed towards. If anyone. But he knew one thing...Obore Daniels...the Obore who had lived on Earth centuries ago, the one who had looked to and travelled the stars...was dead. In a way, this was just a formality.

He felt something hit his forehead. For a moment, he felt a sense of peace.

And then, he felt nothing.

The End

A/N

And that's that done. Don't have any other The Repopulation stories on my "to write" list right now I'm afraid. Current writing focus is on an Avatar (movie) story titled Rainbow, for what it's worth.