Download the Book - Islam and Science Fiction

The cars are filled with a colorful lot once more: this floating
procession, this flotilla of flower power avant la lettre is such a
success that it may become a tradition.
Of course, on the middle car Watt and the Moorish belly dancer
are dancing, again. Krikksen is churning out appropriate riffs while
Jorge José Jesus Juan Guadalajara is wailing his saddest wails,
encouraged by the clapping and castañetting audience.
As the young detective and the Arabic woman encircle each
other, Watt watches her face intently. Passion is smoldering behind
her eyes and he'd be damned if there wasn't a big smile behind her
veil.
"You crazy Flaming, my oriflamme."
"You luscious Moor, you drive me crazy."
"You mean to say you aren't already?" She says with a wink.
"I can get crazier still." Is his honest answer.
"I don't think I'm quite ready for that." She whispers.
"You never know until you try. Where can we meet?"
"We can't, my mysterious muse. I already have a meeting with
destiny." At least that is what Watt thinks she's saying.
"Too bad. But I won't forget this, ever."
"Neither will I, quixotic one."
They dance on, deep into the night. They never meet again, after
this fat Tuesday night, but sometimes even a small beginning is
infinitely better than nothing.
In a final flash of glory, the party burns its last extravaganzas.
Tomorrow is the time for fasting, of tightening belts and suppressing
appetites. But who cares, tonight is still Carnival!
Emperor at Dusk, Vassal at Dawn
The older Watt and Krikksen decided to change tactics in Cádiz.
Having seen their parallel-world younger versions they didn't visit the
city's officials, as another pair of strangely clad foreigners would raise
too much suspicion. After a circumspect nightly errand of mounting
digicams, minimikes and tracerjets around Ferdinand's quarters they
were rewarded a few days later with a very interesting conversation
between the king and a very impudent spy.
Their I/spy/AI monitoring all incoming data from the remote
pickups was set very sensitive so alarmed them at Ferdinand's every
conversation involving politics or intrigue: discussing his choice of
breakfast with a servant, every fight with his wife, just about anything.
Even minding all false alarms in shifts the two detectives were getting
111