When the call came, I was sound asleep, dead to the world, in the way that only the truly exhausted can be. Despite this, when Ally's voice burst into my head I came instantly awake; when she calls to you, there is no way you can ignore it. It's not that it is all that loud, just that it is so damn pervasive.
"Paul", her voice said inside my head, "They’re looking for you. Can I tell them you’re on your way?"
"Ungh", I mentally replied still trying to collect thoughts scattered by sleep, "Ya, I’ll be there in ten. I just have to dress."
"Ok, my love", she said sweetly, "I’ll see you when you get here."
I thought about her last comment while I was dressing. I still did not really understand the process that allowed Ally to communicate telepathically with me, but I did know that the communication it provided was much deeper than speech. I knew beyond all doubt that when she called me "love" there was not a hint of subterfuge or hyperbole; she truly meant it. "And that", I thought, as I looked over at my wife, Sandra, still asleep in our bed, "was a problem."
I pulled a woolen sweater over the tee-shirt and drawstring pants I had just put on, then went to the back of the walk-in closet in our bedroom, where we keep two small filing cabinets worth of our home records. By pushing on them in exactly the right three places, I caused them to slide apart revealing a hole just large enough for me to fit through. I wormed my way into the hole, finding with my toes the rungs of the aluminum ladder that was mounted against one side.
It wasn’t until I got to the bottom of the ladder that I realized I hadn’t left a note for Sandra to explain my absence. Sadly, she was used to this by now, but that didn't mean I was happy about it; particularly since, from where I was going, I wouldn't be able call her. She would probably assume I had simply gotten up early to go in to work, which was true, after a fashion.
I turned and started down the slight incline to where my "car" sat on the shiny black rails on which it road. Even though I had seen it many times, I still felt an echo of amazement at its appearance. If Leonardo Da Vinci and H. R. Giger had gotten together to build a Lamborghini steam locomotive entirely out of blown crystal, it would have looked something like this. The entire vehicle, from the seat (that felt like soft leather) to the convex lens-shaped wheels, was as clear as glass, and every inch of its exterior surface was covered in flowing whorls and filagrees that glittered even in the dim light of the tunnel.
The cockpit was accessed by gull wing doors. I supported myself on one as I pulled myself into the driver's seat, then closed it behind me. I leaned back in the seat, pushed forward on the lever that was the only visible control, and tried to relax. Although the car started to roll forward quite gently, I knew that this wouldn't last long. As long as I kept the control lever engaged, the car would continue to accelerate. Within seconds it was traveling at more than 100 kph; by the time a full minute had passed I was going at nearly five times that speed. I released the control lever and it returned to its neutral position. The car maintained its breakneck speed.
I rocketed through the tunnel; each time it curved ahead of me (something I could clearly see through the transparent body of the car) I imagined myself smashed against the walls. As in past trips however, the glass lens wheels of the car stayed firmly within the grooves in the rails. The only real sensations I felt were a gentle swaying from side to side and an ethereal, musical sound as the air blew over the filagreed surface of the car. Indeed, that was the purpose of the strange shapes on the car's exterior: to generate a pleasing sound for its occupants.