When the word finally reached Alpha Centauri, and, by extension, Rapier, he wanted to find a corner, curl into a ball, and cry in it. Just like that, everything he’d ever known was gone; the Combine was but a memory, and their culture would soon be as well. He held no expectation that humanity would allow the Poslushi to continue in a state as alien as they were. Still, if CAST was being honest, the end of the war would mean prisoner exchanges; he just didn’t know if there would be a Combine to come home to.

Rapier, instead of giving in to impulse, stood a little taller, adjusted his uniform, and pushed the door to his barracks open, stepping out into the large clearing that filled the center of the camp. It was packed to the rafters with people, Poslushi and otherwise, crowding around a single hastily-set-up registration station. Sighing, Rapier marched forth and descended into the rabble, moving with a strength and grace that pushed aside lesser individuals.

It only took him twenty or thirty minutes to get registered, while people who had been there for an hour longer wouldn’t see a desk for hours more. After that, it was a day before the first ships were loaded, and two weeks from Alpha Centauri to Poslush. Rapier was so excited to come home that he barely noticed that he was living with nine other people in one quarters, or that, when he finally touched down in Sunsword’s Triumph, people were sitting at the sides of the streets, begging for food from the human troops patrolling around them. He didn’t notice the Ford Initiative’s recruiting kiosk as he passed it, offering freedom from the looming famine in exchange for a work contract in Planetech’s asteroid fields. He barely registered the pair of Euro-Cath missionaries distributing alms as he brushed past them, or the soldiers in gas masks lowering themselves one by one into the sewers, clutching their submachine guns tightly.

Once Rapier had gotten his bearings about him and made the collaboration government aware of his identity, arranging a meeting was elementary. Soon, he found himself called up to the palace which, though it didn’t look any different, Rapier had an inexplicable feeling had somehow changed. Waiting outside the office of what the collaborators had called a “prime minister,” Rapier took a few deep breaths, trying to collect his thoughts. Imagining that the Combine didn’t exist anymore, at least not in its previous form, was almost impossible to even comprehend. Already, there was talk that when the Combine’s old territory had been wrested from the warlords, there would be referendums in all territories to see if their people wanted out. Even if the humans allowed the Combine to exist at all, it would be butchered.

The individual within the room coughed loudly. “Enter,” she called, and Rapier pushed open the door, seeing a towering Poslushi female with a copper exoskeleton and an air of youth about her. “Rapier of the Idrisat Brood,” the Prime Minister regarded him with curiosity, “I’ve finally put a face to the name. Spatha of the Oxilini Brood, Prime Minister of the Provisional State of Poslush, at your service, sir.”

Rapier bowed. “Greetings. I’m here to apply for a job.”

“So I hear; your public image’ll be of use to the government.” said Spatha, pointing a pen at a propaganda sheet pinned to the wall of Rapier and several other heroes of the Recivilization of Omen raising their sabers as one. Rapier couldn’t help but sigh with nostalgia. “Not to mention that none of the old guards of the nobility will be caught dead taking up a ministry.”

Spatha started, realizing something. “You’re a people person, aren’t you? How’s Minister of Communications sound?”

Rapier’s antennae raised, then lowered further down than before. He narrowed his eyes. “I’m sorry?”

“Have I read you wrong?” Spatha said, the air smelling mildly of embarrassment. “Oh, no, no, ma’am, it’s just,” Rapier gestured, flustered, at his body, “a ministry isn’t a job one such as I should have.”

Spatha’s antennae lowered in frustration. “Don’t tell me you’re that conservative, Rapier,” she reassured him, “males have a place in government too!”

“You know the science, of course,” Rapier said, trying not to recall his... particular experiences with Wakizashi, “a male that takes on a female’s job has the tendency to act as she would, and–”

“Rapier,” Spatha said, a sudden change in her tone shocking Rapier into silence, “I can’t find a female to do this job, or any job, for that matter; the noble broods have all boycotted the government. If I can’t find someone to do it, CAST is going to put a human into the role, and they’ll do what’s in CAST’s best interests, not ours. If you want to shrink back into your gender roles, do it after you’ve stopped this country from being colonized, alright?”

Well, when she put it that way...

Rapier bowed once more, lowering himself almost to a right angle. “I shall not disappoint you, Your Dominance.”

“It’s ‘Mistress Prime Minister,’” Spatha corrected him, then took on a pensive look, the air filling with something approaching dread, “and ancestors hope you don’t.”

—

Wham, whack, THUMP!

“A little faster, Darren!” the therapist called, goading Darren along. Darren took a second or two to catch his breath and wipe the sweat from his brow, then descended on the punching bag once again, starting off with a strong left jab into a rapid sequence of punches, finishing off with a right hook before steadying himself against his own momentum and delivering a kick from his left leg that left the stand rattling as he stepped back once more. The feeling that he had regained control over his own body was one he’d never forget; the doctors said he was recovering wonderfully, considering the nerve damage the poison had done to him. Even now, after so many weeks of restoration therapy, he had difficulty feeling from his fingertips.

“Again?” Darren looked at the trainer; he nodded and Darren began the motions again. The war had ended without him; it was a shame he couldn’t be there to see the flag raised over Sunsword’s Triumph in person. He’d even recognized the kid who had done the raising; it was the same person to direct his first action against the Combine eight months previously. Darren had to suppress a chuckle; the German was really getting places in the world.

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“Staff Sergeant Hardwell!” a voice called from the entrance to the hospital’s gym. Darren stopped in his tracks, looking over to see a sharp-looking man in Army camo, bearing the insignia of a commissioned man. Dabbing himself with a towel, Darren shook the officer’s hand. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Hardwell, have you been keeping track of how long you’ve been laid up?” asked the officer.

“No, sir,”

“Well, you’ve been out for plenty long enough,” the officer noted, “we’ve come to the conclusion that you’re ready to return to duty.”

Darren tried to hide just how much that news excited him; he almost succeeded. “Yes, sir; thank you, sir.” he said, his voice cracking on the last word with an intensity unseen since he was in high school. “Well, you’ll... you’ll have to go through some reorientation, physical training, recertification, the works, but it’ll be a lot shorter, since you’re out of basic and all that.” the officer said, failing miserably at keeping a straight face.

“As is expected, sir.” Darren said, reestablishing his bearing after a few seconds of concentration. “Damn shame a soldier like you missed the war, but special forces are going to be in short supply soon, and there’s a lot of insurgent strongholds out there that need storming. You up to take point?”

Darren smiled widely. “I’ve been waiting to come back to the front since I left, sir.”

The officer nodded in return. “That’s what I expected, Sergeant. Come on; you’ll be training with the locals, just to make sure everyone stays gracious.”

The drive from the hospital to the spaceport was uneventful, for Darren at least. In the alleys beside the road on which he rode, four men with patterned bandanas obscuring their faces unloaded Poslushi neuroforming masks into the back of a trendy little salon. What its owner wanted with them God only knew and it wasn’t their place to ask, so they simply handed over the masks and pretended they didn’t hear the muffled screams coming from the back of a nearby car. In a bar Darren passed in front of, a small clique of businessmen were celebrating their good fortune and good investments in a number of tracts of land in the occupation zones, good for mining and refining once the previous inhabitants were cleared away.

Darren was busy checking into the spaceport when a thin figure emerged from a maintenance closet behind the terminal, licking his lips clean and relishing the struggle. He looked over the passengers lined up before the gate, and could imagine them walking single-file into his mouth, each one patiently awaiting their turn to nourish him. He had to resist the urge to lick his lips again. The figure adjusted his new clothes, checked himself in a bathroom mirror to make sure he looked right, and disappeared into the crowds exiting the building.

Behind him, a dark red puddle was beginning to creep under the closet door.

—

Johann found it difficult to navigate through the packed, whooping crowds of St. Petersburg, especially since he didn’t speak the language. All he could tell, judging by the images of triumphant soldiers marching through Poslushi streets on the Jumbotrons, was that people, even two weeks after the surrender, were still celebrating in throngs; Johann was beginning to suspect that these people hadn’t had a cause to party in a long while. Still, though the smell of cooking meat and sweet spirits allured him, Johann pressed on, towards the southern districts of the metropolis, where the rich, and Svetlana by extension, had their homes.

After a while of making hand signals at confused passersby and trying to figure out what “limousine” was in Russian, Johann was eventually collected by two men in suits and ties. “You’re here for Ms. Kuznetsova?” the man on the left asked, thankfully in German. “Yes, sir,” Johann nodded vigorously, and he was off a few minutes later, speeding southward in an autonomous car, its destination already locked in. Johann tried to calm himself, but he was shaking with anticipation. What would she look like after so many months in bed? Would she recognize him; could she recognize him?

Now that he thought of it, would he recognize her?

“Oi,” one of the bodyguards called, gesturing to a house on Johann’s left, “don’t keep the Marshal’s niece waiting.”

With a small salute, Johann stepped out from the car. He took a few seconds to check his suit, making sure the jacket was crisp and the tie straight. Then, he marched up the stone path to the neo-modern mansion, breathing deeply, one, two, trying not to lose his nerve. All of it was for naught when, just as he was going to grab the doorknob, the door opened for him and there she was, so thin, her eyes sunken and her cheekbones showing. As they locked eyes, Johann could see the tears beginning to run down her cheeks, and it was a second or two before he could feel them scoring his as well. “H-hey, Jo.” Svetlana stuttered, trying to keep her voice from cracking.

That was it. Johann couldn’t resist that voice, that melodic tune she put in every word, a siren song so beautiful it almost made him angry, but how could he be angry at her? Enchanted as he was, he could do nothing but follow his desires, and so he surged forward, scooping Svetlana up in his arms, lifting her off the ground, and then she was laughing, and he was laughing, and all was right with the world. “Don’t bodyslam me, Jo!” Svetlana giggled, making only token resistance to his grasp.

“I’m not gonna hurt you.” Johann said. He couldn’t help but smile when she looked at him the way she did. “God, you’re cold as ice!”

“Yeah, I’m told I shouldn’t be standing around too much until I’m feeling better,” Svetlana looked over into the house’s spacious dining room, where the dining table was already set for the two of them. “I think I’ll cancel my food order; I’m feeling a little sick. I’ll get you something, if you want.”

“I’m not hungry,” Johann shook his head; his appetite had long since been extinguished by nerves. “It all works out, then.” Svetlana said. “Next on the itinerary,” she blushed, “cuddling. You up for that?”

“Svetlana, I haven’t seen you in months,” Johann said matter-of-factly, trying not to show just how much he wanted it, “today’s your day, love.”

“Then let’s get moving; standing up is making me nauseous.” Svetlana said, then performed a mock-swoon back into Johann’s arms, where he picked her up and carried her towards the bedroom. “Do you remember when I talked to you? You were asleep.” Johann asked her, cocking his head to the side.

“A little,” Svetlana nodded, her curly hair rubbing against Johann’s exposed hand and sending an electric jolt through his body, “you got into an argument, didn’t you? I don’t remember anything past that woman yelling.”

“That wasn’t anything you need to worry about,” Johann tried to put on a soothing voice, “but what I said to you is true. One day, I’m putting a ring on your finger.”

“Yeah, I was there when you called my uncle.”

“I mean it!” Johann insisted. “You’re the coolest person I’ve ever met. It’d be stupid to pass someone like you up.”

“Aww, you’re sweet.” Svetlana said as Johann pushed open the bedroom door. Gently, he laid her in her spot on the bed, pulled the covers over her, and then slipped in beside her. At that moment, a distant band began to play an old patriotic song from just after the Third World War, a rising, triumphant number proudly proclaiming that Russia was beaten, but never, ever broken. “I love you, Svetlana.” Johann said. Svetlana simply reached her arm out and grabbed Johann by the tie, pulling him closer. “Prove it, German boy.” she said in a low, sultry voice, pulling his tie off, then beginning to undo the buttons of his shirt.

Soon, they would go out and join the partygoers on the streets. They would feast and chatter and laugh, and the spirits would flow like water. They would forget their woes, with no tomorrow to worry about, nothing to concern oneself with but the cocktail in their hand and the sighs of reunited lovers all around.

But for now, raptured within the warmth and softness of the woman he loved, there was nowhere else he wanted to be.