Janet Thompson stepped through the doorport and gasped. This isn"t San Diego! What went wrong? she wondered, jostled by a passerby, overwhelmed by the noise, offended by the stench, chilled by the cold, and half-blinded by the light.
Blinking, she turned to read the sign above the doorport that she"d just come through.
“Downtown Sacramento Transit Plaza,” it said on the lintel.
But I just came from Denver! Janet thought. She pulled her collar tight against the cold and looked around, wondering where she was. The cold was a wet, soggy rag, so unlike the crisp, dry cold of Denver. The classical cathedral dominating the square looked oddly familiar, but the steep pyramid piercing the sky behind it was the landmark she needed. The Transamerica Pyramid, San Francisco.
I step into a doorport
