The Moving Along Silently was a small but powerful ship, one of the finest of the old vessels in the fleet. Though largely devoted to scientific exploration and discovery, even the Moving Along Silently was required, at times, to ferry VIPs from one part of the system to another. As such, Solaris accepted that there would be times when they would ferry dignitaries such as the Ambassador-at-large for the small nation of Oizys, Humphrey Menken, and his wife, Veronica, the latter derisively described as scandalously young by a Space Lieutenant who hadn't realised Solaris could hear her. Solaris did not care for gossip, of course. It was a pointless human habit, that all her people had raised themselves above.

Humphrey Menken, late 40s, neither tall nor especially short, with a face memorable only because it looked so weathered, alighted from his shuttle, the Small But Useful, straightened his coat, then turned to offer his wife an arm. Veronica Menken, 22, had a much more memorable face, with fashionably sharp-boned features and wide eyes. Solaris was no more swayed by fashion than by gossip, but Bill Johnson next to her gasped and muttered under his breath, as if he, too, had forgotten that Solaris's pointed ears could gather more sound than a normal human's rounded lobes.

"Inappropriate, Mr Johnson," Solaris admonished.

"Sorry, sir."

The Ambassador bowed the correct amount and gave the required words of greeting.

Veronica Menken smiled and said, "I've never met a woman so much taller than me before," then made the mistake of reaching out a hand for Solaris to shake. The men around Solaris became silent. Mrs Menken looked down, down at the dark gloves on Solaris's hands and the stars embroidered on the sides to declare her psychometry to the world, and then retracted her own hand with a strange, small laugh.

Solaris bowed at the exact angle required of her and then returned to her full height. "Lieutenant Johnson will escort you to meet Captain Savage in the meeting room." And then she turned and walked away from the scene, without bothering with the politeness of excusing herself.

The captain would be bothered by her behaviour, she was sure, but she was just as sure that when they deposited Menken and all the other assorted dignitaries on Newport Space Station for their conference that she would never have to suffer the indignity of remembering this moment.

*

The cocktail party, a wearisome obligation, was as richly decorated as anything was likely to get on the Moving Along Silently. There were no pointless frivolities aboard this ship to match anything Solaris had heard rumoured about the star cruiser glamour ships. Nonetheless, there were rustling coloured paper streamers, and patterned tablecloths bearing almost childish representations of flora from the captain's planet, pinned down by trays of food – carefully labelled to ensure alien guests endured no food allergen surprises – and water dispensers full of luridly coloured liquids.

Next to Solaris was the ship's second in command, Lady Saya Free, her face bearing the aggressive boredom of the thoroughly unimpressed. "This exercise is a pointless waste of time but Savage requires that we baby-sit these diplomats, so don't let me down."

Bill Johnson's, "Yes, sir," was like the overenthusiastic chirp of a baby bird.

At the opposite end of the room was Bob of the Nectarens, his true name unpronounceable by humanoid mouths. His tentacles were dark under the lacklustre lights of the room. His human translator sometimes misted him with water, and colour rippled across his skin, as if in thanks, though perhaps it was only a reflex. Solaris was ashamed to acknowledge she knew too little about his people to understand what it actually meant.

Bob was there as a representative of one of the small satellites on the way to the station that sought to trade with the increasingly prosperous post-war nations of planets and satellites nearby.

But to Johnson he seemed to represent nothing more than their former enemy, a strange attitude considering that Johnson had surely still been a screaming infant when the war ended.

"Damn squiddies," Johnson muttered under his breath, only to have to endure a strict remonstration from Lady Free, who appeared even more unimpressed than Solaris felt at Johnson's disrespect of what their Captain had organised.

"The Nectarens share only the slightest similarities to squids," Solaris said. "The superficial similarities to the Cephalopodan species that humans are reputed to have brought with them from their ancestral home are limited to the appearance of tentacles, large eyes, and a beak, as well as minor similarities in colour changing abilities. In all other respects, the Nectarens, defined as they are by their ability to stand upright and spend long periods of time out of the water, are a fundamentally different species..."

"Yes, thank you, Commander Solaris," the captain said, arriving on the scene. "Any of us could read the Info net article."

"I'm sorry, sir."

With the Captain arrived Ambassador Menken, still looking rumpled in his trench-coat, along with his wife, slender and eye-catching in a blue dress that flowed like the clearest water. Veronica Menken reached for a non-alcoholic cocktail and smiled at everyone her while she held it, as if she were trying to sell its benefits for a captive audience of television viewers – which, of course, had been her job before she left modelling to become the well travelled wife of an ambassador.

The Menkens were halfway across the small room, in the process of moving their way through a river of small talk with each little fish in the room, when the lights cut out. Short but alarming – the Moving Along Silently shouldn't have any problems with its electrical systems, and any such would be a sign that the ship would be ready for retirement immediately. The lights came back to life with no fanfare.

The captain was in the process of saying, "I'm sure it's just a minor issue," when somebody screamed.

Solaris parted the crowd with undignified shoves so that she could get at the source of the problem. In the middle of the room Ambassador Menken lay on the floor, blood and foam leaking from his mouth, unblinking eyes fixed on the ceiling, his trench-coat torn. His wife collapsed to her knees at his side and clutched at his hand, beginning the usual process of loud denials and sobbing.

Captain Savage took control of the situation, telling Lady Free to find the doctor, and commanding Johnson to escort guests back to their rooms. "The formal reception is over. It is time for everyone to leave," he declared, in a booming voice it was nearly impossible not to obey.

When the doctor arrived Humphrey Menken would most certainly be declared dead: the time it would take for him to arrive from his office at the other end of the ship would, no doubt, ensure that. Did the person responsible for this crime know that? Solaris's mind bounced over all the facts, taking the scene in, but she tried not to speculate. Speculation wasn't her job. The captain required her to secure the scene and organise clean up and that she would do.

First, she had to get Veronica Menken to stop contaminating the body with her tears.

*

Dr Pill pronounced the patient dead within the hour. A petty officer interrupted Solaris's experiments in the lab to let her know.

Solaris, of course, was not required to take any action on this matter. Communications was undoubtedly already drafting the required communiqué to the relevant parties, and the Captain and his first officer undoubtedly had organisation of any investigation in hand.

That she found herself searching the recreation room where the murder happened after her shift was over, in spite of this, was perhaps indicative of some personality defect she should eradicate.

In her mind she mapped out all the places guests had occupied in the room. The Nectarens had stood near the wall furthest from the door that opened onto the corridor. Solaris and the members of staff had been directly opposite them, easily able to view all their behaviour. The tables were still pushed against the left and right walls where they had been that day. In the middle people had clumped into groups, failing to socialise effectively.

However, the room was small. The killer would not have needed a long time to move in, act, and then return to their spot.

Solaris looked up at the light fitting – there appeared no evidence of tampering, and it continue to send out the same sullen and unflattering light she was used to. Therefore, the tampering had occurred elsewhere. All that would require would be the ability to access the electrical maintenance room. The light could be programmed to switch off in advance, without requiring an accomplice – though that didn't rule out that the killer had one.

The place where the body had landed was clearly marked out.

Solaris hesitated. She was no detective and had not been assigned this task. Still, Captain Savage encouraged those under him to use their initiative to an extent that was, perhaps, unorthodox.

She took off one glove and tucked it into her pocket, then touched her bare hand to the steel floor. Object memory exploded into her mind. First, the disorienting image of boots treading across the floor as seen from below. Then the thump of a body clanging against a steel plate. No image of a killer, nothing useful in the dark.

Solaris pulled her hand back and wiped it clean. She could learn nothing from this room.

*

Captain Savage was quick to the point in the meeting room the next morning, surrounded as he was by all the senior staff. "We have a killer on board. Be vigilant but remain calm as Lady Free works to resolve this issue. Dismissed."

Only Lady Free had been absent from the meeting, but Solaris found her in the corridor outside her own quarters.

Solaris was sure her deep bow conveyed both respect and confusion.

"I have come to you with a private matter. This must be dealt with in the quiet and security of your own room," Lady Free said.

In the quiet of Solaris' quarters Lady Free drew herself to her full height and said, "Let us clasp hands in the spirit of perfect trust."

Solaris did not feel that she could refuse this request.

She nodded, and then Lady Free knelt on the floor and offered her bare hand to touch in efficient motions. It was Solaris that dithered, turning away to place her discarded gloves gently on top of the chest of drawers before turning to face what her superior was requiring of her.

Solaris took Lady Free's hand in a strong grasp, to hide her apprehension.

Her mind flooded with images, at first a chaotic vision and then more neatly sorted into sounds and images. Watching, through Lady Free's eyes, as Lt. Richards escorted Veronica Menken away from the crime scene, and then. Dr Pill, looking over the body, drunkenly suggesting the cause of death was not the stab wound itself but a fast-acting poison ingested at some point prior to the stabbing, and then. Captain Savage and Lady Free alone in the med bay with Humphrey Menken's greying body. And Captain Savage watching her, saying, "Sometimes I forget you're a woman, Saya," and Lady Free's mouth forming the word 'unlikely'.

Solaris blinked, and tried to turn from that image. Plunged instead into memories of Lady Free reviewing a confidential dossier, death threats made to the representative from the Further Nectaren Trade Federation, a suspicious look from Bob's translator, Lady Free's long-distance call with an ex-lover, opening a gift received from the land of Illusionists, and further back...

Solaris wrenched her hand away before she could see images more private and irrelevant. It was clear what Lady Free had wanted her to see and that went no earlier then the week before the arrival of the Menkens on board.

When Solaris opened her eyes again, Lady Free looked unruffled and not bothered, her hair still held back in its severe bun and her expression as sharp and commanding as ever.

"It appears you believe Menken was murdered due to his interest in fostering a limited trade agreement between the Nectaren countries represented by the FNTF and the minor planets of the second sector of our system, perhaps because of the killer's political disagreement with the conduct of Nectaren nations during the war."

"Indeed," Lady Free agreed. "The killer will likely target the Nectarens on board next. I require you to prevent them from succeeding." Lady Free stood, surely unaware of how much she'd let Solaris see. "Tell no one of this meeting."

*

Veronica Menken was still soggy with tears when Solaris saw her next, wailing and rending her garments without a hair out of place or the slightest smudge of her make-up. Solaris understood that this sort of dramatic grief was something experienced by many mainline humans, though it seemed disruptive and unnecessary. What she did not understand is why Veronica Menken kept attempting to attach herself to Solaris' elbow to talk about it.

Solaris had things to do – experiments to run, regular ship-board duties and reporting to carry out, a trade representative to keep an eye on. She had no need for Mrs Menken's emotions.

Veronica Menken accosted her, again, in the hallway at ship time 0700 hours.

"Mrs Menken, this is inappropriate. I have things that I must do."

"Oh, you don't mind do you?" Veronica Menken said, then wiped her eyes again, mysteriously not smearing her mascara. "And, please, call me Veronica. I'd just like to talk to someone, woman to woman, but I have no access to outside communications. If I could only call my mother... then I wouldn't be such a pest. Humphrey was the only thing I had on this ship to keep me company."

"Mrs Menken," Solaris said, voice sharp. "Please go back to your assigned quarters."

"The young men searched through my room as if I was some kind of common criminal. I can't be a suspect. I could never want to harm H-Humphrey..."

And then she trailed off into wailing again. There was nothing more annoying for Solaris than being expected to carry the weight of someone else's emotions.

"It is standard procedure. Lady Free and I are busy, but the new Communications Officer is a woman. You may bother her."

"Oh, how can you be so cruel! When I saw you I knew, no, I was very sure that we could understand each other."

Veronica Menken grabbed at Solaris' arm. Solaris, quite easily, grabbed her by the wrist and removed her from Solaris' preferred personal space zone.

"You were wrong." She strode away, even as Mrs Menken continued to wail behind her.

*

The Nectarens and their translator liked to clump together in the corner of the recreational room, and in groups when they walked through hallways. There was always a faint rumbling sound coming from their clump, the sound of dissatisfied body parts rubbing dry across things. Not speaking words, of course, because all Nectaren communication was visual – either via changes of body colour amongst each other, or via the long-armed sign language deployed when they wanted to communicate across the species barrier. Originally developed for communication between the different squid-like alien species of this sector, it later became useful when humanoid species reached out a hand to say hello. Of course, the only living humanoid on board the Moving Along Silently who knew this language sufficiently for their needs was the translator.

And the likelihood of Johnson getting over his prejudices to learn that language seemed vanishingly small.

"I bet it's them squiddies that did in the ambassador," he mumbled from his seat across the table from her.

"I do not agree," Solaris said. "They have no motive and this murder has materially worsened their position at the trade conference. Without Humphrey Menken's support they are unlikely to advance as far into local economies as they have aimed for."

Johnson had become very annoying as of late, though Captain Savage assured Solaris that all young men were like that at his age. At any rate, it wasn't Solaris's place to make him less annoying, and for that small mercy she was thankful.

"They're very tricky like that. You can't trust them," Johnson insisted.

"They were constantly backstabbing us during the war," Richards said.

"You are too young to remember anything about the war," Solaris said, "as it will have been officially over for twenty years as of approximately two months, three days and fifteen hours from now. Infantile amnesia makes certain that..."

"If you lived on our planet you'd understand," Johnson said. "There's still plenty of tears in space-time all around Diggers Cave."

His face was screwed up in a very stubborn mien, a most ugly expression, not befitting of his position on one of the best spaceships of the UAP. Solaris had no intention of feeding into his tiresome persecution complex.

"There are tears in space-time near large populations of Nectarens as well, gentlemen. As you have nothing interesting to say to me, I suggest you find someone else to bother."

"But—!" Johnson screwed his face up further, somehow, a feat that surely should have been impossible, before returning his face to the usual professional standard. "Come on, Dick, let's go talk to Dale instead."

The Nectaren contingent only rustled harder in their corner after Johnson and Richards left. The trade representative and the translator signed faster, as if in urgency, before pausing so the translator could spray the Nectarens around him with water. Even Solaris's skin felt slightly too dry in this room, and she was raised in the semi-arid regions of Gargoorie. The ship-board atmosphere should have been more comfortable.

She stood, and all the Nectarens looked over to her. As did the translator a second later.

With her arms she made the only sign she knew in their trade language – the word for sorry – then bowed and left. Given the circumstances of the last murder in that very room, she had no belief she'd be better able to protect them from someone determined to do harm in that room than in any other. What she needed was to find the killer, and for that she'd need to look deeper at the situation.