Caliphate

an-Nessang, Province of Baya, 24 Muharram,

1538 AH (4 November, 2113)

He was running late, very late. Running late, my ass. I'm staggering late.

Hamilton cursed at the knee, swelling now and badly, that held his progress down to that of a snail. He wondered at the absence of any policeman on the street. True, it's just a small town and, true, it's nighttime. But you would expect at least one cop. And, between the goggles and the weapon, it's not like I look exactly normal. Then again, I expected to be able to sneak into town, or to drive in a janissary truck. For this and other things, O Lord . . . thanks.