Four Bodies in Space (New Voyages, #1) Page 2

  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.

  2.

  IN THE MORNING THE translator was dead.

  His dead eyes stared up at the ceiling vent. There was a strange paleness to his skin, under all the splatters of Nectaren ink. The door to his room had clearly been tampered with, as nobody but the translator himself and the higher ranked officers should have been able to enter. There were empty water bottles scattered over the floor, as if in evidence of a struggle.

  Solaris wasn't sure what to believe. But she knew this – if Bill Johnson didn't stop bleeting about an enemy somehow getting into the room through the ceiling vent she'd be forced to suggest he didn't have the intelligence required to serve on a UAP ship at all.

  "I bet them squiddies did it. They can crawl into small spaces. I've seen them do it in videos. And there's ink everywhere, which means they obviously did it," Johnson ranted.

  "I didn't give you permission to leave your station, Johnson," Lady Free said, and favoured him with the kind of displeased look that had terrified the wits out of better men than Johnson.

  Johnson squeaked and ran back down the corridor.

  "What's your opinion on the situation, Commander Solaris?" Captain Savage asked. He stood tall, hands behind his back as he surveyed the scene, only to briefly flick his eyes toward her before looking back to the body.

  "It doesn't make sense that the Nectarens would kill their own translator, sir. There is no other humanoid being on board that can communicate with them."

  "Indeed."

  "Further, an adult Nectaren is extremely unlikely to fit through the vents, unless they shrunk to the size of a small rat, and the bruising pattern around the victim's throat is more suggestive of the long shape of human fingers than the round suction bruises you would expect if the perpetrator had been one of our Nectaren guests."

  "That last matter is for the doctor to decide in autopsy, not you. Are you suggesting this is a set up?"

  He smiled as he asked, and she realised he'd already assumed as such himself.

  Lady Free's hands formed tight fists against her sides. "I do not appreciate some childish reprobate using our ship as the stage for their series of murders. Of course, we will not be allowed to suggest this is anything but the most obvious, based on the evidence."

  Captain Savage laughed. "I don't believe Vice-Marshal Su would be particularly open to the idea that someone on board is framing the Nectarens for murder. I've always been amused by politics. Such things are as they are. Of course there can be no official investigation into any of the men."

  "Sir?"

  The Captain's expression was wry. "Dismissed, Commander. I'm sure you have more important work to do."

  JOHNSON AND RICHARDS were still muttering about the Nectarens when Solaris encountered them again en route to the labs, none of their mutterings complementary.

  "That's inappropriate," Solaris said.

  Johnson's face curdled like old milk. "You can't trust them. They did in the ambassador and then their own translator. They're traitorous scum.."

  "That's enough, lieutenant."

  "If you knew what they did to my planet during the war. Richards knows! His father was a prisoner of war."

  "Yeah!" Richards chimed in. "They're barbaric. If you knew the things they'd done, you wouldn't want to be around them, either."

  "That war was a long time ago, and none of the Nectarens on board were involved. Frankly, gentlemen, people from your planet invaded mine and tried to suppress the languages and cultures of my people for 200 years. Should I, by your logic, consider you responsible for that and hold you personally accountable for any injury to someone from my world?"

  "But that was a long time ago, and anyway..." Johnson's words trailed off in the face of Solaris's unimpressed look.

  "Indeed. Think wisely before you speak again."

  They saluted and gave at least the pretence of agreement before she swept out of the room.

  IN ALL THE YEARS SOLARIS had served on the Moving Along Silently, there had been catastrophes and calamities, as well as unfortunate incidents on planets and stations during scientific expedition, but not one shipboard death before that week. To have two in one week when they were so completely unprepared for such an unfortunate circumstance had effects on morale that were, perhaps, understandable, but very very annoying.

  Captain Savage ran a tight ship, with the force of his charisma and strength to keep people in line, and the power of Lady Free's intolerance for dissension to bring into line anyone who wasn't swayed by his charisma. To have so much xenophobic talk whenever the captain wasn't in the room felt like an almost total failure of discipline. And yet, when he entered the lab, broad-shouldered and golden-pale, every man in the room straightened up and saluted him immediately as if they'd coordinated their movements.

  Solaris, on the other hand, noted down her observations on a recently conducted experiment, and then stood with a leisurely pace.

  Frankly, she'd worked hard enough to earn that finished sentence before the pencil drop.

  And Captain Savage had worked hard to earn her loyalty. Before the Nectarens arrived with their inky dark skin, the undersides of their limbs glittering like the night sky, Solaris had been the darkest person on board. Two months before Veronica Menken had boarded, Solaris and Lady Free had been the only women, and after the new Communications Officer she kept to herself whenever she wasn't gossiping about former models. And yet Solaris had heard none of the backtalk and quiet slurs she heard elsewhere, no mumbles about the purple spots around her hairline and the sharpness of her ears, no resentful mutters about her superior strength. Perhaps some of the respect the men on board afforded Lady Free was the fear and awe due a woman who'd been responsible for so many successful military campaigns during the last big war and so willing to demonstrate her terrible abilities. But Solaris had been so sure that the respect afforded to herself onboard ship was due to her abilities. Perhaps it had merely been the captain's ruthless quashing of dissent that insulated her from people saying those things when she couldn't hear. If so, she was content to be insulated from it.

  Captain Savage stood tall as he addressed the room. "Vice-Marshal Song has ordered a redirect to Mid Port Station. The Trade Conference the Nectarens and Ambassador Menken were headed towards has been cancelled. There is no suggestion that these deaths are the fault of a political agitator opposed to trade between the peaceful nations of this sector, and any investigation into that idea is strongly discouraged. I told old Ed that's a good thing because if any of my men felt they could usurp my authority b
y committing murder on my little boat, then I would make them regret every choice that brought them to this point."

  He smiled so wide and friendly that even Richards looked mildly terrified. Lady Free had once described it as a smile that burned like the sunrise, and while that was a sentiment Lady Free had undoubtedly voiced due to her unfortunate heterosexual longings, it was a worthy metaphor for the way the captain could make even the friendliest smile seem like a threat and an act of violence seem like the friendliest overture if he wanted to. Solaris had never had that knack, she could neither be a politician nor a disciplinarian, but she had learned enough of subterfuge from him to know he meant for her to continue her investigation in secret.

  He dismissed everyone else's attention and addressed her personally before he left the room, with a vicious grin. "Veronica Menken is looking particularly sad and lonely about her captivity in the guest quarters. It would help me if you would distract her, so she wouldn't spend so much time trying to bypass our communication block. And I believe it would do you good to spend more time in the company of a beautiful woman, Commander Solaris."

  Perhaps Richards didn't realise Solaris could hear his soft, shaky laugh.

  "Yes, sir," Solaris said. She bowed very low as the captain left, then followed him out through the still open door, ever more thankful she'd finished writing her report.

  THAT VERONICA MENKEN was beautiful Solaris considered completely irrelevant. That she was smarter and more tricky than they'd prepared for was more important.

  She looked up when Solaris let herself into the guest quarters she'd been confined to, and a series of emotional states fled across her face, first guilt, then something Solaris couldn't begin to identify, then a challenging look of determination. Veronica Menken was going to continue to be trouble.

  "Ms Menken, I have been charged with your care," Solaris announced. "You won't find me nearly as much of a pushover as Smith or Richards."

  "Can you blame me for wanting to get out of this cage?"

  "I most certainly can. Two people you're connected with have been murdered within days of each other. Clearly, someone is targeting anyone associated with the attempts to build a new relationship between the Nectarens and the humanoid peoples of this sector. Any time you leave this area you are in danger."

  She sharpened her look as she stared up at Solaris from her seat at the small in-room dining table. "Ilia was killed even while confined to his quarters. I cannot think I am more safe here than anywhere else aboard."

  "Perhaps so, Ms Menken."

  "Please, call me Veronica."

  "I will not."

  It's true that the translator had been killed while confined to his quarters, and therefore anyone on board should be considered a suspect. The orders from high up not to investigate bothered Solaris. They were no surprise – the Qian faction gained more power in the UAP security council every day and ruthlessly quashed any suggestion of conspiracy or dissent. It didn't necessarily mean than anyone in power was in league with the murderer. More likely, it meant that people in power didn't care if the murderer got their way.

  Solaris had reviewed the surveillance footage and audio feeds from the time of the translator's murder. She didn't do this from anywhere in the security room, of course, though she'd walked past to see Kennedy looking as bored as ever at his station. No, it was easy enough for her to access these things from any other room on the ship, with her superior knowledge of their security encryption protocols, though she'd accessed them from Richards's room.

  He was unlikely to take the blame for it. Nobody thought Richards – young, emotional and not yet entirely competent – would have the skills for that. Further, he'd been the person guarding the hallway at the moment of the translator's murder and the voice feeds constructed an image of him that seemed almost hopelessly clueless. She'd played it back more than once – "Oh, it's dark. Why's it dark now? What's that about? Is anyone there?" The sound of a metallic knock at the steel door. "Mr, sir, has your light gone too?" Then the cut off scream and a strange glugging sound, followed by the flabby sounds of Richards's panic – and it didn't illuminate anything.

  "Humphrey and I had dealt with Ilia before. He was a good man," Veronica said.

  "Whether he was or not makes no difference to my duty."

  "Humphrey corresponded with him for six months this time before we reconvened on board. It wasn't just business. They talked of language and culture, of art and beauty. That's what the Nectaren people here are so interested in. Bob is very interested in exporting early learner books and language aids to the peoples of this sector. It's not just commerce, it's culture and communication."

  "I am not unmoved by art," Solaris said.

  "What are the mortuary customs of your people?"

  Solaris looked away from Veronica's soft-eyed gaze. "In the last five years, cremation has become the most popular method of dealing with dead bodies on Westroia, to an extent that significantly dwarfs the popularity of the various forms of burial practised by the various nations of—"

  "That isn't what I asked."

  "I chose not to give you the answer you wanted, Ms Menken."

  Answers could be difficult to come by when you didn't know the right way to look. Solaris had always preferred independent study to anything that required prolonged periods of interpersonal interaction. And yet, looking at the video feeds had provided few answers to any of her questions. Darkness in the corridor as the video feed failed to switch to infra-red and a gap in the video of the translator's room, shorting out and then restoring itself once he was already dead on the floor – these didn't tell her nothing, but they didn't tell her what she wanted to know. Who, why, how?

  The only thing she was sure of at this point was that the murders were not committed by an outsider. Whichever person or persons were responsible (and at this point she suspected one killer and one accomplice) knew the inner workings of the Moving Along Silently very well. It was not merely the technical workings of the ship their methods betrayed knowledge of. Whoever was responsible clearly knew of Solaris's power of psychometry and had taken steps to limit what she could learn from it. Very clever.

  Perhaps direct questioning would be useful in information gathering this time. Solaris turned back to look at Veronica Menken with the smile she couldn't stop her face from assembling whenever she felt especially clever.

  "Consider an exchange, Ms Menken. I will tell you of my culture if you tell me what I want to know."

  Veronica gave her a considering look. And then, "I'll take that bargain."

  "How long have you been receiving the threats?"

  Veronica tilted her head, as if that helped her think, and was quiet for a moment. "I can't be sure. The letters arrived through Humphrey's office. He didn't tell me about them at first because he didn't want to worry me and I was thankful for that. A stray threatening letter now and then might just be part of doing such a public job. It's only when the number got large enough for Humphrey to worry that he needed to let me know to worry as well."

  "You would accept a death threat as the cost of doing a public-facing job?"

  Veronica's eyes turned sly and heavy with amusement. "It's my turn to ask you a question before you can interrogate me again."

  "Ask your question," Solaris said.

  "I admit that I don't know much about Westroia but you don't look quite the same as the people in the documentaries."

  "That's not a question," Solaris said. She pressed her hands into the table so she wouldn't visibly react. "But I will answer your implied question. The cities of Westroia have as much of a mix of intelligent species, both humanoid and not, as cities on any planet in this sector, and even the rural areas do not have enforced racial homogeneity in spite of the agenda of documentary makers and politicians. However, my mother was of the people of the Korres natural satellite."

  "Was? Oh, well that explains the psychometry and those lovely purple spots you try to hide."

  "Powers of th
e mind like mine have been known to appear spontaneously even among Westroians with no ancestors from Korres. It is not nearly so abnormal as people would like to believe."

  Veronica smiled, the kind of smile that popular film would have Solaris believe is intended to be warm and gentle, but that did nothing to make Solaris more comfortable with the lines of questioning she pursued.

  "Your turn to ask me something," Veronica said.

  "How would you describe the nature of the peoples who sent death threats to your late husband? Please include as much detail as possible."

  Veronica looked down at her hands where they were folded on the table and the smile she had been affecting lowered in intensity.

  "It would be much more interesting to talk about how Humphrey and I met."

  "But I am not interested in that."

  A brief widening of Veronica's mouth as she looked down, as whatever facial expression she aimed to display failed to convince her face to move with it.

  "Of course not. I should not have expected otherwise." Veronica sat up more fully and stared at the grey wall. "Any correspondence was the property of Humphrey's office. I saw little of it. What I did see seemed very angry, the kind of anger that assumes a complete contempt for its target. They wrote like they assumed Humphrey was stupid. And," and here she paused, as if she'd just realised the relevance of whatever she was about to convey, "using the youth slang of Illvos and North Port."

  Veronica looked at Solaris, eyes widening.

  "Do you suspect it's the work of youths?" Solaris asked.

  "No, it could be... one of those people who keeps trying to use the slang of the young long after it becomes a little bit embarrassing. Or a team of people trying to copy that slang to throw us off the scent. Or a message about who they think is the most angered by potential trade with the Nectarens."

  "Indeed. Nonetheless, the information is useful to know."