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temperature inside was usually bearable. It was different in hotter climates where the intensity of the sun on the metal skin overcame any attempt to keep the vehicle cool. The other extreme was just as unmanageable – in three more weeks the heating equipment inside the elderly vehicles would barely cope when the first of the big freezes set in. September in southern England was getting to be a problem, the interface between climate upheavals, a delineation of two distinct climate challenges.
    They came eventually to Bedford, a cordoned town, a devolved seat of government, or DSG, in case of national crisis. Tarent looked curiously through his distorting window, wondering what the town would look like in its new ascendancy of importance, but it was much as he remembered it from his last visit some years earlier. They had now travelled a good distance away from the footprint of the storm, and no damage to buildings could be seen.
    Tarent and the others spent the night in a Home Office hostel, an installation with most of its facilities concealed below ground level. It was somewhere near the railway station, which was apparently still in use. They saw little else of the town before transferring from the Mebsher to the building, stepping through the chill evening air.
    He was relieved to be allocated a single room for the night because he was in no mood to have to share with a stranger. Once again his diplomatic ID was invaluable. It was concerning to him that someone like the woman in the seat ahead of him apparently had the ability to disable it remotely, but for the time being at least it went through the swipes and scans without a hitch.
    The room he was given in the hostel was little more than a cell, several floors down and therefore deep underground. It was properly ventilated, though, and was kept clean and tidy. The corridor outside smelled of old food, paint, rust and damp. Tarent located the refectory on the same level, ate a large meal, followed it with some fruit, then returned to his room with a carton of chilled fresh milk. He went early to bed but slept badly. There were noises all night: doors slamming, voices passing down the corridor. The ventilator droned constantly, and in the early hours someone went slowly along the corridor with an electric cleaner. He was woken at 7:00 am.
5
    HE WAS FIRST TO TAKE HIS SEAT IN THE MEBSHER. WHEN THE others boarded they barely glanced in his direction but nodded briefly and conventionally towards him. The woman was last to board. As she clambered through the narrow, reinforced hatch her shoulder-bag caught on something. While stretching back to free it she stared directly at Tarent for a moment, but as soon as she had wrenched it from the obstruction she looked away again without saying anything.
    ‘Good morning,’ Tarent said as she took her seat in front of him, but she did not reply. She opened her bag, apparently wanting to make sure nothing had been lost from it.
    They were soon under way again. As the Mebsher moved slowly out of the town centre one of the crewmen came on the intercom. It was a formula greeting: peace be unto you, Allah is almighty, welcome back aboard, keep your seat-belts fastened, food is available in the galley but remember that no alcohol is allowed aboard, please follow all instructions from the crew in the event of emergencies, Inshallah. There would be a short refuelling stop in about an hour. The crewman added that there could be breaks in the journey for prayer if requested, and these were not only allowed but encouraged. At least one hour’s notice would be required, eitherto travel to the nearest mosque or to locate a suitable halt and to manoeuvre the Mebsher into position.
    Tarent had met both of the crew the day before when he boarded. They were young, apparently well trained and efficient NCOs. They were from the Royal Highland Regiment, the Black Watch, courteous and sharp-witted, willing to try to meet the passengers’ needs while