She guessed that the eye covering had something to do with the museum, though, because occasionally the people around her would stop in the middle of the street, point their gaze at a certain spot, and begin counting years in clear voices: "1880. 1978. 2001. 2032. 2057." Even people with no visible augmentation did this – she guessed their add-ons were inside, or etched on contacts, or broadcast some other way. She wondered if they could even see her. Probably not – if the pop-ups were any indication, they were looking at layers of time. If Amy had the proper augments, she could have downloaded the layers, too, and watched the cycle of damage and repair play out year to year.
This was the most damaged portion of the city, where the water had swallowed the city and the buildings had slid together. This made the layers very popular. Downloading the visitor's guide confirmed this assumption: there were special vN-friendly layers that animated the stock footage of that damage, rather than showing it raw. This way, none of the visiting vN would failsafe as they watched suffering earthquake victims drag themselves away from the wreckage.
West of I-5 was where the worst damage had occurred. The buildings there were built on cheap landfill that had basically liquefied during the aftershocks following the first major Cascadia quake. Once those shallow quakes along the Seattle fault line hit, then three sports stadiums, an aboveground viaduct, an underground tunnel, and several then-historic buildings collapsed, disintegrated, or simply sank. A fifteenfoot-high wave rolled across Elliott Bay and washed over the waterfront – itself already a tourist attraction at the time, and populated by families who were dragged through splintering wood rails to the shallows below, where they smothered under roiling water and falling wood.
The damage was a monument to faulty engineering in the city's early years and the museum aimed to maintain it as such, despite the fact that every year more of the city sloped down into Puget Sound during landslides brought on by excessive rain. The decay had spread uphill from the Sound, radiating from the areas of worst damage to the higher ground where humans fled. Tourists and hucksters roamed freely on open boulevards. They streamed down toward the water adjusting their goggles or pinging their children, who dashed up to them clutching their ears, until proximity sensors on their parents' belts shut the noise off. The air smelled of oily fish and burnt coffee and cake batter. Small carts sold hot scones that bled raspberry jam. Dirty, skinny dogs chased each other across the street; nobody noticed or followed. This wasn't a city, she realized. It was the longest line-up in human history.
"You'll have to dive somewhere else, and swim the rest of the way," Ignacio said.
"Swim?" Javier asked. "Really?"
"Hey, it's not like you have to go with her," Ignacio said.
Matteo leaned over to Amy. "Dad can't swim."
"The hell I can't!" Javier folded his arms. "I just don't really like to."
"If you can swim, how come you didn't teach us?" Léon asked.
"It's OK," Amy said. "I can teach you. I've had swimming lessons every year. It's tougher for vN because our density is different, but with another vN teaching you, you'll probably learn faster."
"It's dangerous down there," Javier said. "Things are still crumbling, and the water's toxic–"
"You don't have to go swimming." Gabriel said. "The pig is visible in 1986. Just head over…" he gestured vaguely west, "there, and you'll find it. The layering will camouflage you from most people."
"1986?" Javier blinked.
Gabriel clicked his tongue. "Honestly. How did you get this far? Was it just good looks?" He nodded at Ignacio. "Go get the goggles. I wasn't able to sneak any past the checkout."
Ignacio gave a distinctly feline expression of annoyance, but stood up and rolled his neck and shoulders before looking around for a place to jump. He adjusted his shirt and checked his jeans and shoes. He fussed with his hair. A smile rolled across his face, then his posture changed, and with it his whole image. Almost instantly, he resembled his father more closely – the stance, the attitude, the walk. If she hadn't known better, Amy could have sworn she was looking at Javier.
Ricci offered his oldest brother a high-fructose grin. "It always takes Ignacio a minute to put his sexy together."
Ignacio gave his brother the finger, and jumped off the roof. They leaned over to watch him bounce between two walls before eventually settling on the ground, adjusting his collar, and zeroing in on two giggling human girls across the street. The giggles grew louder and higher a moment later. He turned a corner with them, and their heads were thrown back and their mouths were open.
"Sexy?" Javier leaned back on his elbows. "That pendejo wouldn't know sexy if it came up and bit him."
"Is your thumb still doing OK?" Amy asked, now reminded of it.