“I’m fine for now, thank you.” I waited until the cabin door clicked shut, then locked it. What I had not told Andria was that it was not my uncle who had summoned me to the Pentagon, but the vice president.

The questioned remained: why?

*   *   *

The bullet train rolled quietly through the predawn darkness, its solar panels handicapped by the night. Only its proximity to Washington’s Union Station kept the seven-car aluminum-and-steel beast inching forward at twenty miles an hour, as its backup generator suckled off the energy junction still another thirty-three miles to the north.

I stretched myself awake in the queen-size berth. Sunrise and its accompanying burst of velocity were still fifty-eight minutes away. ABE’s built-in chronometer, functioning like a sixth sense, intuitively informed me the time was 6:12 A.M. Unlike the train, the tiny neurological device implanted in my brainstem was powered neither by battery nor photovoltaic cells but by my body’s own internal heat. As long as I functioned, ABE functioned.

I climbed out of bed and entered the bathroom. The water closet was barely large enough to accommodate my frame. I relieved my bladder, then brushed my teeth, staring at my reflection in the oval mirror. My hair was dark brown and kept Jesus long, my beard and mustache neatly trimmed. I hadn’t been without facial hair since a bad case of acne when I was seventeen. For a long moment I contemplated shaving, if only to get a reaction from Andie. I thought better of it, though. I was afraid the acne might have left pockmarks on my cheeks, and who needed to see that?

Stepping out of the bathroom, I dropped to my chest on the warm tile floor and pumped out a quick set of push-ups, stopping at thirty. One whiff of the musky scent coming from my armpits sent me back to the sink for a sloppy hand washing, followed by a fresh coat of antiperspirant.

Now what? A train ride that should have been completed in seven hours had entered its second day, thanks to fluctuating weather patterns and a new power grid still in its infancy. A year after developing ABE, I had considered purchasing an old steam locomotive and fitting it with a system that used the train’s own rotating wheels to keep a series of batteries permanently charged. By the time I had set my design to paper, the world had committed its future to an entirely new source of energy.

As the air conditioner clicked on I sighed with relief, feeling a wave of cold air filling the cabin as the train’s velocity increased.

*   *   *