[i]Then[/i]

It was the usual game on a Sunday afternoon when Mother was home. She’d be in her office, reading, filing, sending messages to all the other important people like her that lived up in the stars. Solveig grinned from behind the bookcase, her hand holding her wrist as she held her breath to save herself from chuckling. She could see her father down the hall - halfway through his afternoon tea and open sandwiches. 

When Mother was at her most focussed, the child struck - jumping out with the high-pitched roar of a tiny monster. “Raaaaaoooouuur!” she sounded out, raising both arms - Mother at first, jumping, and then wincing at the sight.

“If you keep sneaking up on me like that Solvieg, you’re going to give me a-”

[hr]

“Heart attack,” said the doctor, the corners of her mouth tugged to one side. “It was a heart attack, Ms Wistrom.”

Solveig sighed, and just glanced down at the table. At the face looking back. With eyes closed, she looked more peaceful than she ever had. Solveig, ever the pale spectre at her side reflected on the steel table.

“With it being sudden, she hadn’t really left anything in particular - but we did find this,” she handed Solveig a wooden box, which was passed to the cybernetic arm - the fingers gripped around it robotically, as Solveig continued to stare down at the body.

“She was a good soldier, your mother. I’m… So sorry for your loss,” the doctor said, sighing before pulling the sheet over the face once again.

Solveig didn’t say a word, instead turning for the door.

The doctor seemed surprised, opening her mouth, her eyebrows furrowing and sending her face into a frown. “Are you sure you’re okay? Not in shock? Perhaps you should sit outside for a while, we have people you can talk to.”

“No need,” Solveig finally answered before heading off, box in hand.

[hr]

[i]Now[/i]

The last two days had been spent almost entirely in transit. Carrying that box from station to station to get back to Earth, the news delivered to her to return to the Alliance immediately, to be taken off planet to the clinic with her mother’s body. All she could think about was Katya. She was missing, unreachable. 

And here was Solveig, stood in some stupid cigar lounge listening to someone else with their quiet commands. She understood. She knew the deal. One job, then the next, then the next. Don’t question, just sit and shoot - and shoot to kill. Solveig took no drinks, no cigars. Hell, she hadn’t even washed in the two days - her hair sat oily upon her head in a mess of braids. Yesterday’s make-up smudged around her eyes like shaken outlines on her ghostly face.

As her new party began taking turns to speak - she thought of the box up in her room, how she’d just left it on the desk - how even the room was clinical, unlived in. Katya’s room. Maybe something was there? 

Why wasn’t she given that room? She wondered. Her datapad blipped as the only other human spoke up. 

[right][i]”“I say we split into two teams. Half of us go to investigate the signal while the other half go to secure the shuttle. You can handle the politicking at the good mayors’ party. Safety in numbers plus we can accomplish more at the same time.”[/i][/right]

Solveig glanced at her datapad, at the message that had been received. Alliance, N7 - a send all, an obituary dedicated to Agnes Wistrom, Decorated Soldier, War Hero. She put the datapad back in her pocket. The cigar smoke was stifling all of a sudden and she raised a finger to her neckline, fidgeting at it before finally speaking up.

“I’ll get the shuttle,” she snapped out, before setting to walk away from the group and head to her room to fetch her equipment, to wash the film of clammy sweat from her face, a pill too. A pain burned behind her eyes, and the old familiar tingles in the arm began to itch - her shoulder writhed and the prosthetic thrummed just so, like it was called to task.