The port opened on a cavernous room. Computers, copiers, desks, chairs, and other office detritus were shoved, stacked, and piled along the edges, cutting off most of the view of the ocean surrounding the Outpost. There were temporary cubby walls and whirling twirling chairs and overturned metal cabinets and doors leading to back offices that were dark and terrifying and thankfully mostly closed off. Broken ceiling tiles hung down here and there, with dangling wires, giving the whole place a chaotic, messy vibe. “You live here?”

“Nope, I’m just visiting.”

He half-chuckled and added, “For the last six months.”

Luna was supremely grateful for his half-chuckle. “Hey, you’re human, come to find out.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Standing out there reading your edict, bossing me around—I kind of wondered if you were an Outpost-dwelling, humorless, robot-guy.”

“Well, I’m not—humorless.”

Luna smiled, “Nice one.”

She picked a column that had worn and chipped paint as if many a rope had anchored there before and tied a strong anchor hitch. Then Beckett led Luna through the maze of furniture to a door on an interior wall with a sign that read: stairs. As he pushed open the door he said, “I’m not a big fan of going in here.” Inside the stairwell sounds echoed—dripping, lapping, splashing. Loudly.

They climbed three flights to a door that had a sign: roof.

Stepping onto the rooftop was like entering another world. Off-center was a large yellow circle for a helicopter landing. A quarter of the rooftop was covered in a lush green garden. Potted shade trees stood at the west end, with a tent nestled under them. Electronics, radios, boxes, trunks, and coolers were piled beside the tent and beside that was a sheltered, makeshift kitchen.

Beckett pointed, “There’s Sam’s garden. He had it growing so well, I don’t do anything but harvest the fruit. Help yourself to some strawberries.”

Luna rushed over and dropped to her knees. She grasped big, red, plump berries, plucked them, looked at them adoringly, and shoved them into her mouth. After a cool dozen, she asked, “I feel so bad.” Red juice dripped down her chin. “I should save you some.” Her cheeks were full, her voice muffled. “Do you want some?”

“No thanks, I’ve had plenty.” Beckett watched her eat. “When was your last meal?”

“A while. No fruit in forever.”

Beckett headed to his kitchen. “I have some meat. Would you like a sandwich or two?”

“I’d love two, thanks. Bread, mayo, cheese,” she answered without prompting.

As Beckett made the sandwiches he watched her work her way down a row of strawberries. He had never seen someone behave so unselfconsciously. Unguarded. Free. Beckett couldn’t decide if he liked it or not—she wasn’t giving the gravity of the situation its due consideration, but it was nice to have someone to talk to. Beckett hadn’t done much but be alone, worrying, for a long, long time.

Finally, satiated from the fruit, Luna brushed off her knees. “Wow, what a view. You must have the best view in the whole entire, covered-in-tons-of-water, world.” She walked along the long low perimeter wall, turned the corner, and walked along the next perimeter, calling back over her shoulder, “And in every direction there’s nothing. Isn’t it amazing? Just ocean, far and wide. So beautiful.”

“Um hmm,” said Beckett. Unsure if he could agree. He had grown used to thinking of the ocean in a whole other way.

Luna leaned out and over, pointing down. “There’s my paddleboard! It’s teeny tiny!”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t what? Lean, like this?” Three quarters of her body was across the low railing now.

“Yeah, yeah, like that, don’t.”

Luna pulled back from the edge without noticing Beckett’s angst. “Have you jumped? You totally could from here. Thirty feet—maybe a tad more.” Her hands were on her hips as she appraised the distance.

Beckett stopped mid-movement, frozen, mayo knife gripped in his fist.

Would she jump?

And what would he do if she did?

The moment passed.

Luna wandered toward the kitchen and Beckett exhaled his breath.

They carried their sandwiches to a table and sat down. Luna peeled up the top bread and investigated her sandwich’s layers. “You’re a mayo on both top and bottom kind of guy, I see, very interesting. I would have pegged you for a top layer only.” She took a big bite.

He watched her chew. Then took a big bite of his own sandwich and ate without response. Finally he said, “I don’t know, you aren’t what I expected.”

She smiled widely. “Everyone says that.” But in truth they didn’t, nobody ever said that. Luna was a Nomad, just like every other Nomad. She traveled in a group and everyone knew her, had always known her. She was always just what everyone expected.

“You haven’t told me your name.”

“Oh me? I’m Anna Barlow. At your service,” said Luna.

“Like the actress, huh? Okay, nice to meet you.”

Beckett rubbed his hands on a napkin and tossed it to the table. He strode to a large trunk, opened it, and pulled out a large ruck sack. “I have these. One for each of you.” Luna walked to his side and watched him unzip the top of the sack. He pulled out some packages. “These are rations, food, enough for a week if you’re careful...How fast do you paddle?”

Luna said, “As fast as a dolphin dives on an off day.”

“I mean, if you’re paddling, in a day, how far can you go?”

“I can go as far as I need to go. If I’m singing I can go farther. I’m not sure I get what you’re asking.”

“In my training I was told that the Nomads would be able to get to the next Outpost east in a few days. The Mainland a few days after that. But you’d have to go fast, okay? Fast.”

“Of course. Due Haste. East. Okay fast. You’re being serious again, I didn’t want to mention it, but Sam, the guy that lived here before you, was pretty lighthearted. I’m not sure he’d approve of your hospitality. Of course it’s been a few years.”

“I didn’t know him.” Beckett’s brow knit, but he carried on with his instructions. “This is a water desalinization kit and a jug. It’s heavy. Do you think you can pull this too? Will it slow you down?”

Luna looked at the half-empty trunk, “Which families have you given packs to?”

“About three weeks ago I gave out ten to the, um...” He pulled a notebook out of the trunk. “The Lacertilias.”

Luna said, “I’ve met them.”

“A month before that, um, close to twenty, that was a big group. The Coleopteras.”

Luna leaned over his shoulder, reading down the family names. Recognizing some, searching them all.

“Have you met any Saturniidaes?”

He handed her the notebook. “If they’re not on the list, then no. Do you want me to add your name, what was it, Barton?”

Luna handed it back to him. “Barlow,” she said, “One. For now.”

Beckett checked the time on his watch, so Luna looked up at the sky. “Looks like 3:45.”

He said, “15:54. I need to check the water level for the record. Will you be okay up here—I mean, I’ll be right back.”

“I’d like to come, I need to check on my board.”