She looked at her grandmother"s gold, mechanical watch. 10:55. Her comcard out, she strode toward a bank of doorports a half-block away.
Protestors. Paleolithic imbeciles, she thought.
Thumbing through her schedule as she walked toward them, Janet saw they were blocking one doorport rather than all of them. Usually, they just carry signs and yell at people, she was thinking. The one doorport they were blocking read across the lintel, “American Doorport.”
Janet stopped beside a planter, pretending to be absorbed in her comcard, wondering how she was going to get back to corporate. For a minute or two, she thumbed through messages on her comcard, then pulled her calendar back up, wondering if she should call RK Blackstone to let him know she was delayed. Moving her thumb up to the previou
