Officer Anthony Stewart checked that he had everything ready, scooped up his three-year-old, shouldered the day bag, and kissed his wife goodbye. “I"m so lucky to have you,” he told her. “C"mon, Suzy,” he said to his four-year-old and headed for the garage.
“I"ll pick up the kids at three,” Sharon said as he stepped into the garage. “As usual.”
“Thanks, Honey,” Anthony said, the door closing between them. His hands full of child, bag, lunch, and briefcase, he managed to extract his comcard from his pocket and swipe it across the doorport sensor.
Space-Time Harmonic Aperture, it said across the lintel.
Fancy name for a doorport, Anthony thought. The light turned green, the surface shimmered, and he stepped from his garage into the nippy Denver morning. Making a beeline across the neighb
