Page 2 of Leveling

Chapter 2

The young man said, “Water levels.”

“Oh.” Luna corrected a small spin that pointed the nose of her paddleboard away from the building, calling over her shoulder, “Sam is supposed to be here.”

“He’s dead. About six months.”

“Oh.” After a couple of paddle adjustments Luna added, “We come for supplies, from Sam.”

The young man asked, “How many of you are there?”

“A lot, me, my family.”

He looked to the right and left. “Do you want to call them together? I have an edict to read.”

“You can read it to me. I’ll pass it along.”

“Sure.” He disappeared into the cavernous room behind him. Luna couldn’t tell what was in there. The opening was deep dark—full of hulking, jutting up and hanging down, shadow-shapes. The glass windows on both sides reflected: glaring light, bright sky, azure ocean glints, and the compact body of Luna, in a cropped tank top and yoga pants, slowly drift-twirling on a paddleboard, her ten-foot potted Palm trailing behind her on a raft.

The young man returned. In accordance with Luna’s earlier assumptions, he had donned a pine-green uniform jacket (covering his arms, which before now had been the only interesting thing about him) sporting a badge over the upper left pocket. He rubbed his hand over his almost bald head and straightened himself with a small neck-jerk, as if he wanted his spine to meet the importance of the edict he was about to read. Yep, lacking in style and imagination. Luna had seen that coming.

He read:

“The True and Lasting Government of the American Unified Mainland wishes to warn you, the Nomadic Peoples of the Waterways, that the ocean is rising perilously high. Scientists predict that the Outposts and many islands will soon be covered. This will create too great a distance between Outposts and islands for watercraft without engines. The Government...”

The young man cleared his throat.

“The Government insists that you, Nomad, move immediately, with due haste, east, to the mainland.

“Outposts along the route will provide you with supplies to assist you on the trek. When you arrive at the mainland you will be given shelter within a settlement.

“Signed, John Smithsonian, Acting General of the Final Interior.”

The young man lowered the edict.

Luna asked, “Perilously?”

“Yes.”

“What was it you said about haste?”

“Due haste.”

“I see.” Luna paddled, not correcting as much as setting herself into a lazy spin. Luna wasn’t sure what to do. The young man’s words seemed worried and fearful and Luna wasn’t used to that sort of thing from strangers. Usually the Outposts housed caretakers who gave the Nomads food and rest and shelter if needed, a bit of conversation and news. She hadn’t been expecting a Stiffneck uniform-wearing hottie reading edicts and grumbling about peril. The day was more than half gone. Wasn’t it nap time? A good time for a slow spin.

The young man assumed the beautiful yoga-pant-wearing Nomad girl was thinking the important edict through. In class he learned that the Nomads would have difficulty understanding the grave news. They would be confused by the details. He had been instructed to read the edict. And trained to remain firm and convincing. To be unemotional. He stood straight and narrow watching the young woman spin.

“It’s probably not a good idea to get dizzy on a paddleboard, you might fall in.”

“Oh, I guess you’re right.” In one quick motion she clipped her paddle to her board and cannonballed into the water causing a large uproarious splash.

“Wait!”

Luna came up with a splutter, flicking water from her hair. “Want to come for a swim? It’s hot out today.”

“No, and can you...can you get back on your board? I’m uh,” he looked around, “not rescue-ready.”

She swam with strong sure strokes to her paddleboard and threw an arm over, leaning, her bottom half treading water. “I don’t need a rescue, but you look like you could use a swim.”

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