Hunt the Hog of Joe

By the time my papers had been located and the form filled and stamped by the jury and my luggage had been found and loaded on a three-wheeled cart, Joe's sun was setting. A guard who talked enough to reveal that his name was Smith guided me through the stifling streets. Already the dark nebula was visible and thunderclouds on the horizon added to the possibility that the sky was having convulsions.

Smith helped me pull the cart up a ramp to the planked walk of the outer wall. Guards stood at intervals and peeped through infrared goggles or checked strange instruments. Some laughed after we passed.

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