"You there!" The officer was middle-aged, his face hard beneath the rim of his helmet. His uniform was impeccable and the leather of his boots, belt, and laser holster shone with a mirror-finish. "Did you see what happened?"

"Sorry, no," said Dumarest.

"You too?" The officer echoed his disgust. "Over fifty people in the place and no one saw what happened." He glanced over his shoulder towards the scene of the crime. "If you were standing here how could you avoid not seeing? You've a perfect view."

"I wasn't looking that way," explained Dumarest. "I was studying this." He pointed at the mural. "All I heard was some shouting. When I turned the sport was standing over something on the floor. What happened? Did he hurt some shy;one?"

"You could say that," said the officer dryly. "He killed a man with a bottle." He stared curiously at Dumarest, eyes narrowing as he took in the gray plastic finish of pants, knee-boots, and tunic. The tunic was long-sleeved, falling to mid-thigh and fastened high and snug around the throat. It was unusual wear for a city dweller of Aarn. "Are you a resident?"

"No, a traveler. I came here to arrange an outward pas shy;sage."

"Why not go to the field office?" The officer didn't wait for an answer. "Never mind. I suppose a tavern is the best place to do business if you can afford it. Your papers?"

Dumarest handed over the identification slip given to him when he had landed. The officer checked the photographic likeness and physical details incorporated in the plastic. He softened a little as he saw the credit rating.