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.”

“No, I don’t. But also, did you hear the edict? I suppose it’s too late for you and your family to begin the journey east tonight, but you’ll have to go first thing in the morning.” His eyes darted to the water level marks just below his feet.

Luna pulled onto her stomach, then rose to standing in one quick, non-toppling, or even rocking movement. She said, “We leave marks at every Outpost.” She turned sharply starboard, paddled thirty-five strokes to the corner, gestured with her paddle at the glass, and called back, “It’s the first thing I checked when I got here. Messages. There’s a name: Sam. A mark that says, ‘Shares.’ Which he did. And there’s one that says, ‘New Guy.’ It doesn’t say your name.”

“Not that it’s relevant, but my name is Beckett.”

She paddled along the wall returning to the glassless opening where he stared out, watching her peripherally. “So Beckett, I’m pretty hungry.”

He cut his eyes her direction. “Oh, um, I’m only supposed to give you a pack of food once I’ve seen you’re agreeable to heading to the mainland. Those are my direct orders. And you should probably discuss it with your family too.” He returned to staring out over the ocean, averting her gaze.

Luna wondered if that was something he learned in service-guy training? To not look? He acted important, the way he kept telling her what to do, but also a little like he was pretending.

“We can’t begin the journey east until morning. You just said so.” She squinted at him. He was definitely a Stiffneck. Still and rigid.

Waterfolk, such as Luna, had to rock and roll with the waves. They had to constantly adjust. Balance was the name of their game.

But within Beckett’s rigidity, his eyes caught the light and danced like water. His skin was paler than her own. Luna wondered if he reflected sun, instead of soaking it in. He didn’t look like anyone Luna was used to seeing. Ever.

She was used to dark skin and deep eyes, the kind of eyes that were all one deep dark color, the same as basically every single other person. Like her own.

He seemed to be considering the situation. He looked around at the ocean and everywhere except at Luna, and then down at the water level again. He crouched and seemed to forget she was watching, shifting, softly paddling, while he rubbed his finger along the numerical markings. He stood. “I have to restate the importance, I can’t stress it enough, of you following the edict and heading to the mainland first thing tomorrow morning.”

Luna smiled, “In due haste.”

“Yes.”

“I’m kind of hungry now, Sam would definitely give us something to eat.”

He sighed. “How many people are with you?”

Luna twisted her board away from the Outpost and propelled herself with four small strokes. She looked broadly to the left and the right. “I’m not a hundred percent sure where they went, so it’s only me, until they come back.”

“Okay, you can come to the rooftop for something to eat.”

Luna dropped her head to the side. “I don’t knoooooooow.”

His brow knit, irritated. “What don’t you know?”

“I seem to be alone at the present, without the protection of my eighteen brothers, and I don’t know you, and I’m not sure you’re trustworthy.”

“I have a job. My job is to read you the edict and save you from the rising waters. I’m not going to risk my job by being a jerk.” He stared out at the horizon, then asked, “You really have eighteen brothers?”

Luna said, “Yep, big brothers.” She sized him up with her squinting gaze for a few long uncomfortable minutes. Then she pulled her paddleboard to the opening, gathered a rope, and stepped gracefully onto the landing at Beckett’s Outpost.