by Caroline Womack 

Summary: I knew the mission had gone to Hezmana, but there was nothing I could do about it. I had orders to carry out and to rupture from that was to abandon all that I knew...the way of the Peacekeepers….

Archive: This story is indeed my property (as in I created the situation, the dialogue etc.) It may be passed along and archived as long as my name goes right along with it. Please ask me first. My email is CommanderCariel@aol.com. Let me know where it's at so I can come visit. : )

Author's Note: Thanks so much for taking time to read this short story of mine. It's my sixth Farscape related story and I'm proud of it. Please feel free-I'd like anyone too-give me comments, questions, about the story. I love feedback. (No naughty, evil, or just plain mean emails though-They will be taken care of by my fire-breathing dragon named Ryuu take caution!) Thanks!

The Way of the Peacekeepers

"You're pathetic!" Sac chuckled. He stared at the Ilanic prisoner, struggling in its bonds.

I waved my volvaer shocking device just in front of its face. "You really shouldn't struggle, it'll only make it worse for you."

The creature continued to struggle, so I 'gently' reminded it of who was in charge. The creature screamed and cried out all sorts of hideous things against the Peacekeepers.

"Well, we can't have that," Sac said in a sarcastic tone. He jammed his volvaer into the beast over and over until the creature fell into an unconscious state.

A gruff voice came over Sac's comm. "Officer Sac?"

"Yes?" he answered swiftly.

"I want you to bring Officer Pzeisor with you to my office in one-hundred microts."

"Yes, Sir." The comm. was cut off before Sac had finished his 'yes, Sir'. He turned to me. "Well, you heard the commander, let's get moving. We can leave this disgusting creature to rot."

I nodded and followed Sac out of the prison block towards the commanders office. We entered to find the commander sitting in a very relaxed position at his desk. "Pzeisor! Sac!" he said almost too cheerily for a Peacekeeper. "Sit down."

We obeyed him, concealing our confusion with a blank stare.

The commander took two datadisks from his desk and slid them into two datapads. He held up the datapads. "A new assignment for the both of you."

We each grabbed our own datapads and looked over the information. "A command carrier?" Sac questioned.

The commander shrugged his shoulders. "It's straight from High Command. You're to report to Captain Tulmon in a quarter of an arn. Dismissed."

Sac and I showed our reverence by dipping our heads to the Commander as we got up to exit. As we walked towards the room we were supposed to meet with Captain Tulmon, I glanced over the datapad with my assignment a few more times.

In the dimly lit assembly room, a rather large captain stood, waiting for the rest of his corps to arrive. I examined who else had been ordered on this mission as he began to speak.

"You've all been asked here, because you are the best-trained officers…" The large man strutted around the table. "The monarch on Icolaria went missing a few monens ago and it was assumed the rebels murdered her when she was away on a diplomatic mission to restore peace to their people. We will go in, destroy these rebels and each of you will be greatly rewarded." The captain smiled as if he knew just how much he was getting out of this deal. "We leave in one arn."

We rose from our seats as one body. Getting the equipment together and the transports ready would take up the entire arn. Soon though, everything was set to go and we were off for Icoleria.

**** "Fadeir! Hassan! MiKail! Pzeisor! Sac! Vansen! Fall in!" Boomed the intimidatingly large Captain Tulmon from the battlefield where we had spent arns, firing at an enemy we'd never seen up close.

Struggling in the muck, dripping with sweat and blood we rose from our position. Mud was plastered all over our uniforms; the uniforms worn so crisp there was never a fold out of place or a wrinkle. Now we saw the result of our fire: the fallen troops we once called comrades were dead bodies scattered everywhere. All I could think about was how ironic the situation was. We had been hired out by this planet's main government to get rid of the rebels opposing the Democracy. These Colerian rebels taking out Peacekeepers right and left like we were some pesky insect...just something to be stepped on… And then we found out we had been ordered to shoot our own men! Our own men!

"Move it! Move it! Move it!" Tulmon never failed. He didn't seem to care. His orders had been carried out and this mission was over.

Shots started blasting out in all directions. We were surrounded. If the shots hadn't been lethal, they would be beautiful… Our red pulse fire mixing with a variety of other colours from their weapons framed a rainbow around the victim before they fell. Going out in a flash of light like some kind of God.

"For the love of Cholak!" MiKail cried. He threw as much of his gear as he could behind him so his pack would be lighter. "Peacekeepers killing Peacekeepers!"

"We have to get out of here NOW!" Sac yelled behind him. "Hassan!"

Hassan didn't seem to be moving. I turned to look. "Hassan!"

Sac pulled me back. "Leave her!"

"Leave her? I'm not going to just leave her here!"

"You're fahrbot, man! Let's go!" His grip tightened on my arm.

"If she's alive, she's coming with us!" I threw Sac's arm off me, dropped my equipment, and ran over to help her.

"Just leave me, Pzeisor…" Hassan said. "Just-just go…" She looked at me with a fierce authority in her eyes. Her flaming hair flashing under her Commando helmet.

I bent down and examined her leg. It was sunk into some sort of murky quicksand. "Aw frell!" I got down into a better position and started yanking at her leg. "I'm going to get you out. Now if you're going to fight, fight the quicksand. We don't want the Colerians eating our corpses. Now, PULL!" Grunting and pulling hard, we finally succeeded in freeing her leg. We weren't fast enough.

Pulse fire from along the barrier caught me straight in the arm as I reached for the equipment I had abandoned. I cried out in pain. This was one of those times when you realize you could die. As a Peacekeeper you're not supposed to think of yourself as an individual, but one can't help but realize when faced with death, your life doesn't matter. No one would care if your were shot down. If you died, you'd be merely a statistic, a number on the battle records. "I am a Peacekeeper…until death…I'm trained to ignore the pain…I'm trained to ignore the pain."

Another shot, this time in the knee. "I'm trained to ignore the pain…"

"Nathaen!" Hassan cried out for me.

I looked back and saw our struggle had been futile. Hassan had been shot in the head. "I am a Peacekeeper…" I heard the next shot, but I only saw darkness.

We weren't at war, so why did High Command insist that we fight? They told us it was to keep the peace, but rationalizing the irrational is a futile endeavour. We lived lives of contradictions. The inner strife nearly overcame us all. Eventually it would catch up to us and we'd have to come-to-terms with our individuality. We were individuals despite the fact we'd had our individuality ripped from us. Our lives were unimportant in that or any other battle. The unending quest for power through which many men have died.

Each of us had a boiling hatred inside, for some the hatred was hidden deeper than in others. It sparked the growing rebellious fire, fuelling in turn, our hatred. An unending cycle until the sea of freedom will be able to cleanse us. Someday, we keep telling ourselves, we will have our revenge and take back all that we've lost, everything they've taken from us. Some have overcome their inner strife by deciding to submit, declaring it our destiny. They take each day as it comes, saying it is our fate. I can't argue with their reasoning. I just pray I won't have to rely on them on the battlefield.

Colours finally returned to my sight and I awoke in a cold sweat, surrounded by med techs. For a moment, I wished they had let me die. After the pain ceased and my wounds had started to heal, I was glad I was alive, at least for a microt. Then the reality set in: the failed mission…Worb, Yzan, Nafir, Dovdomati, Toren...Hassan…all of them were dead. They were part of my corps, my teammates, my comrades…one had been a lover.

Sorrow must remain an inner struggle though. "I am a Peacekeeper. I never let emotions get the better of me." I laid on the med bed as if still unconscious, not wanting to confront anyone. I didn't even want to see the faces of the med techs.

"Showing emotions will be your undoing," I reminded myself. "Remain with a placid look about your face unless situation calls for sternness. You are allowed to show anger and frustration only when aides your mission. If anything interferes with your assignment, terminate it as quickly as possible with the least amount of hassle. Don't simply disregard it, get rid of it by any means necessary. This is the way of the Peacekeepers." I didn't until that moment realize how I had been conditioned to take orders without question…to kill this group for rebelling against something they felt was wrong.

How could someone decide which side to take? Our orders were from High Command, but who were they to tell us which side was 'right'? I chuckled at the incongruity of it all. I had tortured prisoners for no purpose, just because I had been ordered to. I had murdered thousands of people, some even our own troops, just because cease fire hadn't been given.

Finally I cautiously opened my eyes. I saw the scars from the wounds I had received in the battle. The scars that branded me physically could have been far worse had I remained on the battlefield any longer, but still the scars mentally would never fully heal. For once one's soul is wounded, each cut opens the wound again and again, each more painful than the last.