The second floor hall camera shows a feed of Mark, bundled up in coat and hat and gloves like a responsible kid should be, with a snazzy red runner sled under one arm.

An idle thought about Christmas and an open closet door had yielded the sled, and he's off to make good use of it.

There's a click and a whir, and a round-faced boy in a starched white shirt appears on the screen. He doesn't seem aware that the comm unit is recording him; the feed shakes and spins disorientingly as he turns the device over and over, examining it with a steadily widening smile.

"It's really broadcasting? Gosh.He clears his throat and speaks ( Read more... )