The road leading out through the suburbs of Dearth City was narrow and congested with traffic, a steady uphill climb past long terraces of uninspired housing, industrial units and large complexes such as hospitals, schools and government buildings. Frejah drove patiently but the engine of the supercharged car was in a state of constant change, snarling then idling in turn, as it responded to pressure on the throttle. The forward motion of the car remained smooth and unaggressive. Only once, on a short strip of divided highway, did she give the powerful car its head. I felt the thrilling surge and pressure of the violent acceleration as we shot past a line of cars, trucks and delivery vehicles with almost insolent ease. But most of this early part of the journey was dull, giving me the chance to take in more details of the interior of the remarkable vehicle.

The dashboard was low and designed elegantly with both an eye to aesthetic appearance and functionality. There were no dials, merely a series of clear digital displays, more instruments than I had ever seen in any other car. Beyond even these were several other pieces of equipment, situated clearly but unobtrusively to each side of the driver’s eyeline. None of them appeared to be in use, but they all had tiny pilot lights glowing.

A row of switches was on the door surround about Frejah’s head.

Immediately behind the steering wheel, itself small, ergonomically oblate, clad in fine leather, were several communications boxes attached beneath the dash. I assumed at first they would be a radio, music player, etc., but as soon as the thought formed I realized that a car at this level of sophistication would not simply bolt on such commonplace gadgets. I had come to the realization that where Frejah was sitting was less the driving seat of a car, more the cockpit of a small plane.

The traffic gradually thinned as we reached the city limits. Frejah reached forward beneath the dash and pulled out a wireless headset with ambient-sound-cancelling phones. She spoke immediately. ‘Ya . . . not until tomorrow . . . late afternoon, early evening, ya . . . I’ve got a 6/17 with me. Off-island, ya.’

By this time we had reached such an elevation that we were passing through intermittent low cloud, only glimpsing the great southern peaks rising around us snowclad. The land immediately to each side of the road was frozen, or had coverage of recent snow. The road surface itself, although recently ploughed of loose snow, and marked with the tyre traces of the traffic that preceded us, clearly bore large patches of black ice. Frejah appeared to pay them no heed, driving without hesitation, even through an increasing number of corners.

She took another headset call. ‘Harsent . . . ya, send them in. Can’t say – I’m with a 6/17.’