Dinner arrived without warning. Two young men I assumed were stewards brought a trolley and placed the food unceremoniously before me. Chafing lids concealed the dishes. There was a small bottle of red wine included. There appeared to be no choice offered by the chef of international repute, but by then I was glad of anything. One of the stewards released the catch on the sleeping bench, brought the whole thing down with a muted crash, then smoothed and straightened the sheet and pillow. Soon after this the train slowed suddenly, and came to a halt somewhere in unlit countryside. Total silence fell. The dinner had left me unsatisfied. It was served dry, it was salty, the sauce had congealed and the portion was small.

The following morning I was awakened by the sound of voices in the corridor. I dressed quickly and opened my door. I recognised one of the stewards from the evening before. I asked him why the train had stopped.

‘The track is the wrong gauge,’ he said, walking on. ‘Too narrow. We can’t use it. Happens a lot. They’ll fix it. We can make up the time later.’

I thought about that, trying to make sense of it. How could railway track used by trains every day, the permanent way, suddenly be the wrong gauge? And how could they ‘fix’ it?

I looked through the window of my compartment – a blizzard was blowing outside, and snow was already building up against the side of the train. It looked like we might be stuck there for hours. But then suddenly the train lurched into motion, slowly at first then with increasing speed. I returned to the pod. I read through the text of my speech again on my computer screen, then made sure all my tiny changes (emphasis, clarity, etc.) had been transferred by hand to the hard copy. The hours passed. I was fatigued by being on the train: the endless movement, the noise from the track, the dry heated atmosphere, the sheer tedium of being contained inside a bleakly modern capsule for nearly two days. Outside, we were passing through snow-clad scenery, much of it high and rugged, looming over the track. From the satellite map on my cellphone I knew this was the final stage of the journey. Dearth City was fringed by these peaks, but the mountains went on and on. The train was going slowly again, snaking between the peaks, labouring on the ascents.

I started preparing myself for disembarkation, glad of something active to do. I sent a message to Jo, telling her I would shortly be arriving in Dearth City. I hoped the reception party from the university would be at the terminus to meet me, as promised. I wanted to be driven to my hotel as soon as possible, take a shower, shave, put on some clean clothes, prepare myself for my speech.