Oleksander paced in the small breeze tent set up at the edge of the Sahara in Morocco. He sipped on mint tea, a delicacy to his Siberian tongue. He missed the homemade moonshine at night though. The remaining governing body here at the edge of sand and dust had clamped down on anything they used to allow tourists.
Still this heat, and the sun, were nothing but beautiful to Oleksander. He was glad to be gone from the seed farm and this job was rather peaceful. No one actually seemed interested in harming the science officer he guarded and he and the three members of the security patrol got along well enough. Jorge was a drunk from Venezula and had the worst of this part of their trip going thru some small alcohol withdrawals.
Oleksander rode his first camel yesterday in preparation for the trip into the Sahara. The guides made fun of his approach and his camel didn’t make it any easier, tossing him left and right. But still he got the hang of it.  Two more days here, in a sliver of civilization, before heading into a new world unlinke anything he ever experienced before. He paced, his hands holding firmly onto his cup of tea, and thought of his family, gone in the winters of Russia. If only they could see all this orange.