Caliphate

top, except in the case of those who sided with the Muslim street brawlers, such as Anti-Fascist Action, a German derivative of a Swedish movement with origins in the British Isles. As in Sweden and parts of France twenty years prior, there were places in Germany now where the police simply would not go.

In an effort to placate the Muslims and stem the violence, Germany had established Sharia courts under Islamic scholars for Muslim communities. Moreover, acting under orders from the Supreme Court, itself under the European Court of Justice (itself having taken in and taken over the personnel and duties of the European Court of Human Rights), local German courts had taken to using Sharia in cases involving only Muslims within Germany.

If this did anything to stem the outrage of Muslim residents, though, it was tolerably hard to see.

In Nuremberg, however, things were not so bad. Of the city's population of about half a million, fewer than twenty-five thousand were Islamic. There were neighborhoods Gabi and Amal dared not go, of course, as there were in virtually every European city. But they were few, small, and generally avoidable.

Too, Gabi avoided thinking about the implications of there being places within her own country that she and her child dared not go.

The Christkindlmarkt hadn't opened in several years. The last time it had, even Nuremberg's comparatively few Muslims had been able to shut it down . . . violently. This had, as in many parts of Europe, led to an expansion of Muslim representation in the Polizei. The practical effect of that, however, had merely been to give the imams and mullahs their own, state-funded, enforcement arms. If it produced greater peace within and around the Muslim community it was only because, having no place else to turn, moderate Muslims knuckled under to the rule of the mullahs.

Before Europe betrayed itself, it first made sure to betray those outsiders who truly wanted to become European.

The practice of French Muslims, to the extent that that wasn't a contradiction in terms, of engaging in gang rape of both European girls and Muslim girls who failed to dress the part—tournante, or taking one's turn, in French—had spread, too. But with the courts and police only interested in keeping the peace—as well as they were able, at least, within the German community—girls had little recourse. Germany's thirteen percent Muslims accounted for about eighty-eight percent of all rapes in Germany. This was perhaps not such a bad record. In Sweden, twenty years prior, they'd been credited with as much as eighty-five percent of all rapes, and that from a much smaller percentage of the population. Some argued that this showed that Germany was doing a better job of assimilation. It may even have been true.

Gabi refused to listen to those figures, too.

Chapter Seventeen

And even more honor is due to them

when they foresee (as many do foresee)

that Ephialtis will turn up in the end,

that the Medes will break through after all.

— C.P. Cavafy, 'Thermopylae'

Castle Noisvastei, Province of Baya, 24 Muharram,

1538 AH (4 November, 2113)

The gate guard from Castle Honsvang, breathless from his long uphill run, pounded on the great gates outside the castle until his hands began to bleed.

'All right, all RIGHT! I'm coming,' shouted Latif from a window overlooking the near side of the gate. He muttered, too, 'Where did the damned gate guard go? I'll have the skin off that lazy bastard's back for this.'

In fact, the brothel's gate guard beat Latif to the gate by some seconds. All full of apologies, he insisted he'd only left to relieve himself. Latif said he'd take that under consideration, 'Just before I have you beaten half to death and sold to a eunuch factory.'

That sent the gate guard to his knees, begging for mercy and forgiveness, until Latif, realizing he couldn't open the gate on his own, said, 'Never mind. Just stop blubbering and help me with this Allah- be-damned bar.'

Together the two men lifted it, the gate guard doing most of the work, and admitted the breathless corporal.

'The men . . . from the security . . . company . . . you've got to rouse them . . . we are . . . attacked.'

'Shit!'

Flight Seven Nine Three, 24 Muharram,

1538 AH (4 November, 2113)

'Shit,' exclaimed Lee/Ling. The eyes opened wide with shock and fear. 'They've made us. Shanghai tells me there are two fighters lifting from ar-Ramstei even as we speak.'

'Fuck,' agreed Matheson, 'what can we do?'

'Can't outrun them,' Lee answered. 'Can't fight them at all. Can't surrender.'

'Set her down?' suggested Retief, a member of the team since Matheson had been able to get agreement—'from the highest authorities'—that his family would be traded for from the Boer Republic. 'How good's their radar?'

Lee shook Ling's head. 'Second rate. What they make for themselves is poor. What we and the tsar sell them isn't great either. Good enough to see us in the air, yes. But good enough to catch us on the ground? Maybe not. The problem is that if I set down, some one of the locals will see us. And, given that, they might report it to the authorities. And there's no place around here that doesn't have some little town or other within view.'

'Report us to the authorities?' Matheson mused. 'Let me see the map.'

Looking it over, Matheson saw one town a bit more isolated than the others in the area. 'Set us down right next to that,' he said. 'I have an idea.' He turned to one of the ex-cargo slaves and ordered, 'Get me a couple of sheets . . . no . . . ah . . . three of them . . . and three checked tablecloths from the galley . . . and . . . ummm . . . a piece of rope or heavy string . . . say . . . ten feet worth. And bring me a sharp knife.'

'Does this thing have a public address set?'

Matheson watched the ex-slave scurry off. And that's what I'm counting on; that slaves don't usually ask—lack the self confidence to ask, really—too many questions of those who seem to be in authority.

Castle Honsvang, Province of Baya, 24 Muharram,

1538 AH (4 November, 2113)

The sergeant of the guard was neither a coward nor a fool. He'd been at the front of the battering ram, on the theory that fire, if any, would most likely come from inside once the door was down. When his men grasping the rear were cut down, he'd waited to see if any more fire came their way. When it didn't, he said a small prayer and walked out into the open, onto the blood-stained stones that marked where the enemy could fire, if he was still there.

Apparently, he's not. Still, if I pull more men off the perimeter and some kind of aircraft shows up, as I expect it will, the enemy might be able to get away.

Fuck.