Another day passed when nothing happened. Beckett asked every guard who walked by, “When will I get a lawyer?”

He was either cursed at or ignored. He was in a holding cell, but holding for what?

Finally, on the third day, during visiting hours, it wasn’t Dan sitting at the table, it was Aunt Chickadee and her lawyer Roscoe. A wave of relief washed over Beckett.

Chickadee jumped from her chair, and rushed Beckett, hugging, rocking, and holding him tight in her soft fluffiness, as if she’d never let him go. Her green Mohawk was combed down, her shirt printed with big bright flowers, her ears sported five rings each, and her arms were sleeved with tattoos.

Chickadee put her hands up on his cheeks. “Beckie, your face, did they do that to your face?”

He nodded.

“You have blood all over your shirt, poor boy.”

Roscoe stuck out his hand to shake Beckett’s, he asked, “Were you resisting?”

“They beat me before they were arresting me.”

Roscoe said, “Now see, that there is where they lose their high ground.”

Chickadee asked, “Are they feeding you?”

Beckett said, “Enough.”

“Well, we aren’t allowed to be here for long, so Roscoe better get to it.” She plopped down to her chair, chins wiggling. Beckett was psyched that Roscoe was there. He hadn’t wanted to get his hopes up, had resigned himself to whoever the city would offer him as a lawyer, but now — Roscoe was crazy smart. Never-lost-a-case smart.

The kind of smart that could get Beckett out of here. He hoped.

Plus Roscoe grew up with Chickadee and was one of her biggest fans, so she called him “My Lawyer” because he would do whatever she wanted, whenever she asked. Everything except put on a suit. He was a jeans guy. Often saying, “That way when I argue my case brilliantly they never see me coming.”

Roscoe sat down slowly, leaned back in his chair, and leveled his gaze, “Chickadee didn’t relay a lot of the details. You’ve deserted your post?”

Beckett’s jaw clenched. “Yes, I guess that’s what it looks like — I was allowed a weekend to go home, instead I went to search for a lost friend. I was supposed to report back on the twenty-third. But I was still on board a ship, so um, I had extenuating circumstances.”

Roscoe nodded slowly, peering at Beckett long after Beckett stopped speaking. He pulled a stack of papers up and flipped through them. “It looks like you’ll be serving five more years, in the East.”

“I can’t do five years. I was so close to done.” Beckett rubbed up and down on his face and up and around and through his now longer and scruffier hair. “Aargh.” He leaned back, then leaned forward again. “I volunteered to go to the Outpost, that was supposed to get me a choice of wherever I wanted to go. That was the deal. Also, I planned to report, as soon as I came into Heighton Port. Those fucking jerks arrested me before I had a chance.”

Roscoe nodded slowly again and blinked a few times.

Chickadee looked from Roscoe to Beckett and back to Roscoe. “You can handle this right? I mean, he didn’t hurt anyone, you’ve got this, right?”

Roscoe took a moment to arrange his face into deeply confident sneer. “Oh, yes, we’ve got this.”

Beckett asked, “We do?”

Roscoe deposited the papers back into his briefcase and clicked his briefcase closed. “I don’t want to make it sound too easy. You’ll have some more time added, but I’m sure your battalion needs you. It will simply take some negotiating.”

He rose. “You’ll have to be careful though, no more screwing up. This one is going to be on your permanent record.” He glanced around to see if he left anything on the table and added, “Yep. It will.”

Beckett was so surprised at Roscoe’s assurances, that he hadn’t noticed their meeting was over. He had forgotten to mention Luna. “I also need your help for my friend — an, um, Nomad.

Roscoe’s eyes narrowed. He sucked in his lips and made a popping noise and sat back down.

Chickadee clapped her hands merrily, “Is this the girl you told me about? The one you went searching for?”

Beckett nodded. “I found her — in the whole ocean — I found her.”

Chickadee said, “That means something.”

“I think so too. I was going to bring her home. She — she got detained when I was arrested.” Beckett ran his hands though his hair again. “She’s at the camps, but Dan hasn’t been able to see her yet.”

Roscoe raised his eyebrows. “Well now, that’s a bigger problem.”

“How? She hasn’t done anything wrong. I get why I’m in jail, she was simply standing on a dock.”

Roscoe and Chickadee exchanged a look. She explained, “The camps are overcrowded and way more complicated than anyone thought. In the beginning they were going to build settlements, but now with the water rising the political will just isn’t in settling the nomads anymore.”

“Are you saying those people are sitting there in camps waiting for nothing?”

“No one knows what to do with them.”

Beckett dropped his hands to the table in front of him, palms up, jaw dropped, dismayed. “I sent people there. I told them to go to the camps. I read them an edict, assured them they’d be safe. . .”

“They aren’t safe anymore—”

“But they should let them go — give them back their paddleboards and let them go!”

Chickadee said, “They should, dear, of course.”

Roscoe folded his hands carefully and seemed to be choosing his words. “It’s not as simple as that when you have a tiny little brain, and the bureaucrats running the Nomadic Water People Policy have very small brains. I have heard it said that the government of the American Unified Mainland can’t possibly let the Nomads go because the Administration feels responsible for them. I have also heard it said that they no longer wish to feed them. So there you go.”

Beckett looked at him incredulously. “Not feed them — I have to get Luna out of there. Can you help me?”

Roscoe nodded slowly, not in agreement but as if to acknowledge hearing the question, and that he was mulling it over.

He took so long that Beckett turned to Chickadee. “I love her. I want her to live with us. I promised her. She doesn’t have anyone — her whole family is gone, and she’s all alone. I promised her that I would give her a home.”

Chickadee’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh Beckie, is she wonderful? I mean she must be if you love her so much, but is she amazing? Is she the punchline to your life’s joke?”

Beckett nodded. “Definitely, someday, nothing feels very funny right now.”

Chickadee clapped her hands on her thighs, “That’s all I need to hear. Roscoe, let’s go get the girl.” She acted like she was jumping up from her chair.

Roscoe shook his head slowly, “Now Chickadee, it’s not going to be as easy as all that.” Chickadee rolled her eyes and slumped back down to her seat. He said, “She’s a Nomad. I’ll have to research precedence, this will require some studying.”

Chickadee said, “Well, first, I’m going to march into the camps and demand her. As her Aunt Chickadee. I’m going to demand they release her to me.”

Roscoe watched her speak, nodding slowly. “We can try that.” He stood with his briefcase.

Chickadee said, “Beckie, what’s her name?”

Beckett said, “Her real name is Luna Saturniidae. But Dan said she’s listed as Luna Stanford. And before you go crazy, no I didn’t get married without you, that’s so I can find her easily, get her released with less paperwork.”

Chickadee laughed, “I would’ve killed you, that’s true. But also, see, she’s got our last name — me and Roscoe are just going to go get her.”

Beckett blew out a big gust of air. “Chickadee, thank you.”

“If you love her, she’s family, and it’s time for her to come home.”