It is the year 2110.

My dad says Wellington is still one of the windiest cities in the world.

I believe him.

Some mornings the wind tries to steal my cap on the way to school.

Sometimes it pushes rain sideways.

Sometimes it whistles around the corners of buildings like it is trying to tell a secret.

Today, however, I am not outside.

Today I am travelling to Australia.

I don't really like travelling.

Right now I am sitting between my parents inside a passenger capsule.

My mum is sleeping.

My dad is sleeping.

And I am bored.

Very bored.

We are travelling through one of the giant ocean tubes that connect New Zealand and Australia.

The capsule sits inside a long transparent tunnel.

Above us is the sky.

Below us is the ocean.

Ahead of us is more tunnel.

Behind us is more tunnel.

And around us plays the most boring music in the world.

To help me survive the journey, my parents bought me a Sudoku book before we left.

I stare at the puzzle in front of me.

A six belongs somewhere.

I just don't know where.

My dad told me the trip will take about an hour.

An entire hour.

That is almost forever.

Luckily, we have made this journey many times before.

My parents have friends in Sydney.

Jack and Ava.

They always welcome us with hugs.

And Ava always has something sweet for me.

That is the best part of the trip.

I focus on the Sudoku.

A six.

Then a three.

Then a two.

After a while I only have a few empty squares left.

Just as I am about to finish, a voice speaks through the cabin.

"We will soon arrive at our destination. Please fasten your seatbelts."

My mum wakes up immediately.

She leans over and checks my seatbelt.

"Everything looks perfect, sweetheart."

I smile.

The capsule begins slowing down.

I can feel it in my stomach.

That strange floating feeling always happens when we approach Sydney.

Outside, the colour of the water changes.

Then land appears.

I quickly put away my Sudoku book.

Arriving is my favourite part.

The tube becomes wider.

Other tubes appear beside us.

Then more.

And more.

Soon they curve and cross above and below each other like giant transparent rivers.

The Sydney Station is enormous.

Capsules arrive from all directions.

My dad once showed me a picture in an old book.

It was a pneumatic mail tube from centuries ago.

People used air pressure to send documents from one office to another.

Tiny capsules travelling through tubes.

Back then, it was considered very clever.

My dad laughed when he showed me.

"Humans always have the same ideas," he said.

"They just make them bigger."

When I look around the station, I think he might be right.

The capsule finally glides to a stop.

The doors open.

And there they are.

Jack and Ava.

Waiting for us.

Ava waves.

Then she holds something up.

Chocolate.

Not ordinary chocolate.

Algae chocolate.

My favourite.

I run toward her.

The journey is forgotten immediately.

I take a bite.

Perfect.

As we walk through the station, I glance back at the tubes one last time.

They stretch toward the horizon.

Toward the ocean.

Toward New Zealand.

Somewhere inside one of them, another child is probably sitting beside sleeping parents.

Trying to solve a Sudoku.

And wondering when the journey will finally be over.