An hour downriver with the current, old Joseph alone in a two-person boat, a bouquet, and a tiny plastic flag. As the tributary broadened to delta, he checked: tanks, rebreather, fins, weight, light. All ready. Beyond the last reeds, open water.
He activated GPS: it knew where to go. The boat’s electric motor hummed and the distance slipped away. Drawing near, he gasped.
Patrol drones floated, alert. Long black guns tracked Joseph.
“Restricted area,” the nearest drone warned. “Retreat or be fired upon.”
Helpless, he turned back: three long hours upriver.
His grandfather resting under the risen sea went unvisited.