Free Prophets by S. Andrew Swann Page B

itself. On one side the horizon was a humpbacked mountain range, the other was the metallic chaos of Proudhon.
    On the Proudhon side was a small private parking area where his rented aircar was waiting. Now that he was done with the BMU for the day, his mind returned to the real reason he was here. Unfortunately, he still had not been having any luck finding potential ships that could take him off in the direction of Xi Virginis.
    He was pondering the next place to find someone with an expertise in illicit long-distance travel when he saw Vijayanagara Parvi leaning against his aircar. Instead of a white jumpsuit she wore more civilian clothes. But she still had a BMU logo embroidered on her sky-blue windbreaker and a wicked looking needlegun peeked out from a barely covered shoulder holster.
    As he approached he asked, “So, tell me, do Reggie and his brother work for you?”
    She smiled. “Tell me if it matters.”
    â€œSlamming into that wall hurt.”
    â€œYou can take it.”
    Mallory shook his head. “So, are you here to ‘save’ me from another attack by Bakunin’s lowlife?”
    â€œActually, I’m here to congratulate you. Not many people pass though the exams this quickly.”
    Mallory’s expression didn’t change, but he winced inside. He had been making such an effort to have the test scores reflect Fitzpatrick’s expertise, he hadn’t thought about how much time Fitzpatrick would have spent on them. “I wanted to get it over with.”
    Parvi laughed. “I’d like to see some of your scores if you took some time at it.”
    â€œI don’t really see the point.” Mentally, Mallory scrambled for a new picture of Fitzpatrick that would be consistent with what Parvi had seen of him and the results of his exams. “My money’s running out and I need to be working, not being tested by some asshole officer.”
    â€œOh, lord.” She was still smiling. “I can see why you never made it past staff sergeant.”
    Perfect. “You know, maybe I liked where I was.”
    â€œYes. But people are going to hire you based on those scores.”
    Let’s change the subject now. “And how exactly do you go about getting hired?”
    â€œWelcome to ProMex,” Parvi said.
    It was a cross between an ancient Roman coliseum, a stock exchange, a casino, and hell’s own trade show. It was named the Proudhon Military Exchange. In terms of area, it was probably the largest nonaircraft-related structure in the city.
    Walking into the massive dome, they passed aisles where hundreds of merchants sold exotic military hardware. Above them, holo screens showed gladiatorial contests being held somewhere else in the complex. Everywhere kiosks gave scrolling displays of symbols that, Parvi explained, gave values of publicly owned paramilitary organizations as well as odds on various conflicts based on current wagering.
    It was a little disturbing, but not surprising, that the conflicts were not confined to Bakunin. It was more disturbing exactly how many of them there were. When he commented on it, Parvi said that, “Members of the BMU have seen action on every inhabited planet in human space.”
    He almost said, not Occisis, but he remembered the chaos of the Junta and its aftermath. It was quite possible some off-planet forces were involved at some point.
    She led him on a winding path across the floor to a large area clear of the arms dealers. The area was marked by a series of three-meter-high towers, all topped with the chromed spheres of Emerson field generators. Mallory didn’t need the red and yellow candy-striping on the towers to know that, while he couldn’t see it, the area was protected by an anti-personnel Emerson field.
    There was one obvious entry, a round portal mounted between two of the towers. Across the top it said, “BMU Members only.” On one side of it, a small open-ended metal