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to the Prison at the Pole.”
    â€œYou will assemble a team, Mister Snow.” The Director sounded equally pleased. His digitized face grinned with satisfaction. “And good work.”
    Mister Snow bowed his head more deeply this time.
Were those tears in his eyes?
“Thank you, Director. I live to please you.”

THE EIGHTH CONTINENT MOVED SOUTHWEST THROUGH THE PACIFIC OCEAN LIKE A TURTLE OF unimaginable size. Frothing white wake churned behind the former garbage patch in the shape of a V. Despite its great mass, the continent showed no sign of slowing down.
    Neither did the Lane family. They had worked straight through until morning to come up with a way to stop the eighth continent from crashing into Australia.
    Rick checked the Continent Collision Counter application he’d programmed on his family’s pocket tablets to keep track of how much time they had left. Just two days were remaining. Their predicament irritated Rick so much he almost couldn’t breathe. He had big plans for the eighth continent, plans he had spent the past six weeks preparing to execute. His frequent disagreements with Evie about what to do with their new homeland had set him back enough already. And a crisis like this didn’t just mean more delays; it meant that he might never see his dream of a thoughtful and unencumbered civilization realized. But this wasn’t even Rick’s focus at the moment. He had only one clear thing driving him: he
had
to find a solution, or else they’d be saying g’night to the people who say g’day.
    Rick’s mind sparked and skittered with ideas as dawn rose over the Pacific horizon, casting bright sunlight across the gentle hills of the eighth continent. Standing outside his father’s hastily constructed laboratory, he looked at the landscape he’d helped create. Dirt and rocks and grass stretched as far as the eye could see. A mountain range stood tall in the distance.
    Those were the things the eighth continent had. What it didn’t have yet were trees or leafy plants of any kind, and the only buildings were the small cluster of temporary wooden shelters his family had erected north of the beach.
    â€œKoo ka-koo ka-KOO!!!” From the open front door of the lab, Dad called like a bird. It was a cry the family used at times when it was urgent to have everyone rally to the same location. “Rick! Come here. I think I have something.”
    Rick hurried inside, where his father was standing next to 2-Tor. The bird held a quilt-sized sheet of white paper in his beak and the tips of his outstretched wings.
    Rick’s dad scribbled something furiously, then stepped back to show Rick the plan. “If we construct a giant desk fan and mount it on the continent, we may be able to blow our runaway home off-course.”
    Rick glanced across the room where Mom and Evie were considering an idea of their own. Mom was drawing on a chalkboard while thinking out loud. “The continent is like a dog off its leash. Maybe we could order a fleet of my Cleanaspot mega-vacuums to rendezvous with it. If they were all sucking water at full power, they might be able to slurp us off-course.”
    â€œI don’t know, Melinda. . . .” Dad piped up, looking over from the mess of scribbles on his paper. “Not a bad idea, but hmm . . . we need to get to the root of the problem.”
    It suddenly dawned on Rick that his father was right. “That’s . . . that’s it!” he exclaimed.
    His family turned to him in confusion. “What’s it?” Evie said.
    â€œWhat Dad just said. We have to get to the
root
of the problem. By rooting the eighth continent!”
    â€œRichard,” 2-Tor interrupted, “I’m not sure what you took your father’s meaning to be, but all he was suggesting was that—”
    Rick cut his tutor off. “Mom hit on it too when she said the continent was like a dog