Escape to New Atlantis

11 Water & Sand

Sawyer

My watch tries to wake me, but I ignore it in favor of sleep. It tells me I have a message—not a good time. Mom yells through the door, "Sawyer, out of bed! In thirty minutes, they're going to move this building!" Sigh. OK, I'm up.

Thirty minutes is way more than I need. Our instructions were to "securely stow all loose items," but we didn't arrive here with much, and the dishes and such that come with this furnished apartment are all in cabinets secured by nautical latches. This place, after all, is a boat moving to one degree or another all the time. The liquor store downstairs must be a nightmare.

The forecast said we'd have calm seas this morning, and I think it's right. I've been slapping seasickness strips behind my ears ever since quarantine, but today I just stash a few in my outrigger.

I'm munching on some cereal in the kitchen when Mom comes through, checking all the cabinet latches. "Honey, I'll be spending the day with Millie. She says you and Catalina have plans, but zip me a message if you need anything."

Plans with Catalina? Oh, maybe that was the message when I was still asleep. Yep, "I'm sure having your building move will be disruptive, so unless you tell me otherwise, I'll pick you up just before 8:00." Before I can reply, my watch tells me she's at the door.

Catalina, dressed in bright yellow, is fresh and wide awake—the opposite of me. My hair must be sticking up, because she reaches out and pats a place on my head as she says, "Good morning! Hope you don't mind that I plugged myself into your moving day."

"No, this is great. I was only going to the library to work on, I guess, sonnets." I give her the expression that's appropriate for both sonnets and bugs in your sandwich.

Mom comes over and gives her a hug. "You have big plans for the day?"

Catalina laughs and says, "New Atlantis is too small for overly big plans, but I want to show Sawyer some of the fun spots around town." She taps her watch. "But first, Mother wants me to remind you to notify the moving crew as soon as you're out of the building, otherwise they'll get grumpy."

We head out, and while we're stepping out onto the sidewalk, I dutifully message the building owner. Well, Ms. Prudence Han, who works for the owner, which is my friend Benedict Yuan. As a matter of fact, the friend standing right here in the street.

He gives me a bow. "I dropped by to apologize. Rarely do I get involved in my real estate affairs, but then normally I'm not kicking a friend out on the street so the country club brats can add another par-3 hole to their miserable little golf course. Sorry—I may own the building, but I don't make the rules."

Benedict puts an arm around each of us and leads us down the street. "Let me explain what's going to happen. Today we're swapping the positions of four building pods and four golfing pods. Along the path they'll travel, the awnings have been retracted and the streets blocked. All the autonomous traffic is being rerouted. Already, robots are working belowdecks to disconnect the utilities, and as soon as it's verified that everyone has evacuated, forklifts will move the greenery modules out." I check and, sure enough, the grass and trees really are all in sidewalk-level planters.

We stop in the center of the intersection. "Here's where it gets interesting, and why pods are only moved in a calm sea. The ballast tanks under the street and intersection pods are filled until those pods literally sink, suspended more than fifty feet underwater by cables. Then, each building pod floats over the sunken pods to its new address on Corryvreckan Street, rotates so it faces the right direction, and docks. Meanwhile, the new golf course pods, which have been parked on Corryvreckan awaiting the move, float this way, pulling off at intersections so the buildings can pass. When all are in place, the streets are re-floated, all the pods lashed together, greenery replaced willy-nilly, with robots reconnecting everything underneath."