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kept them off limits to civilians. I understand they're all over the galaxy, but the Confed kept them mostly hidden, too. You know anything about them?"
    It was Bork's turn to shrug. "Not much. Some long-dead aliens supposedly built them. I've never been to any of the ruins, only know what I've seen on the ent- or edcom casts."
    "They're in pretty good shape for being half a million years old. Impressive to see up close. We get some time, maybe we'll run out there," she said. "After you help me solve these murders."
    Bork leaned back in his seat, feeling the hardfoam strain under his weight. He wore the matador uniform now, the dark orthoskins and spetsdods. Since the baby had been born, he'd mostly done local security consulting, and more often than not had been in biz clothes and unarmed. Muto Kato was a pretty peaceful world. Good place to raise kids.
    Of course, he'd stayed in shape. Went to the range now and then and shot a few magazines, kept the skills up. It wasn't the same as being in a shoot-or-get-shot situation, though, and was a long, long way from the revolution. Last time he'd been in any real danger was when Sleel had needed a hand with that crazy nobleman on Rift. Reminded him, he'd have to call Dirisha and Geneva pretty soon, he owed them a com. They were training a police force on a new wheelworld somewhere in Delta last he'd heard. Sleel would know.
    But he didn't think there would be any real problem on Taz's planet. A few local murders didn't stack up against some of the bad spots he'd been in.
    It felt good to get home, Taz thought. As she and Saval made their way through customs-here she had some clout and they weren't bothered-she noticed some of the stares. She was a fairly large woman and used to drawing curious looks, but Saval made her seem quite ordinary and even small. People would glance at him, then away, then back again, as if seeing a big cat escaped from some zoo. His years with the matadors had given him a smoothness when he moved, a kind of grace that she admired. Oh, she was strong enough, more powerful than an average basic-stock man, and she had learned some useful fighting tricks from her years as a street cool, but she wasn't much of a gymnast. Saval almost glided when he walked, very little friction evident in his stride.
    A blue-and-blue waited where the pedway met the street, and a uniformed officer Taz vaguely recognized stood leaning against the side of the vehicle. The officer was in work tans, short-sleeved khaki shirt and knee-length pants with thin, matching osmotic socks flowing into darker tan flexboots.
    He wore the garrison hard cap, and the usual gear on his belt: pistol, a reel of memory cuffstrap, shockstik, override keycard, com. He snapped upright when he saw them, and Taz knew he'd had been sent to collect them. The Watch Commander had supplied a ride. How nice.
    "'Lo, Chief," the officer said.
    Saval looked at her.
    "Even the assistant chief gets the title," she said. "This is Peace Officer Jolerie," she said, spotting the man's name on his badge. "Po, Saval Bork, my brother. And if you remember your training from the academy, you might have noticed he's a matador."
    Jolerie nodded once at Saval. "M. Bork." He looked back at Taz. "Chief, the Supervisor sends his best and hopes you had a nice vacation."
    "Why is it I hear a 'but' attached to that?"
    "We just found another one," Jolerie said. "Got the com not half an hour ago. The labbos have secured the scene and the Supe wants you to take a look at it before anybody else tromps around in it."
    Taz shook her head. "Welcome home," she said.
    "Sorry, Chief, I didn't kill him."
    "Maybe. We'll see." She turned to look up at Saval. "Well, don't say I let you sit around doing nothing to earn your money."
    "I get paid?" he said. He grinned.
    "Get in the flitter, big brother. Somebody might mistake you for a bus and try to put their luggage in your mouth."
    The crime scene was wound with flashing ribbons, plastic strips