Page 1 of Leveling


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Chapter 1

As Luna dippedher paddle in the water it created a small eddy. She pushed back and down, slicing through the water, bringing her board with a gentle bonk to the glass, and peered inside, a hand shielding her eyes. Reflections made it impossible to see anything but herself, a young woman, alone, standing, long paddle in her hand, staring in. Staring back out.

She smiled at her reflection in greeting. She was used to refracting light, dancing shimmers on the water, but only saw her own reflection on the windows of the Outposts. Luna lowered her paddle and gave herself a once over, turning to check out her rear. Hmm. She looked just the same as a week ago. Possibly darker because the breeze had been so lovely she hadn’t sought out the shade of her tree.

She dipped her paddle and pushed forward, directing her board away from the glass, bumping the trailing raft that carried her supplies and a Palm tree in a pot. She crossed the paddle to the starboard side and pushed three strong strokes for a different view. She nosed to the glass and pressed in to look.

“I don’t see anyone.” There was no answer, so Luna said it louder, “I don’t see anyone.” No answer again.

She paddled three strokes to the corner of the building and peered inside the glass windows there. Then she stroked backwards, four long deep strokes, moving her paddleboard away, backing into her supplies raft again, bumping and shoving it behind. She arched, looking up toward the garden-covered rooftop.

She called, “Hello?”

She paddled along yet another wall of glass, turned a corner, and then paddled another length. So far she had covered three lengths of jutting-out-of-the-sea glass wall, each composed of a hundred windows, each requiring about two strokes: two hundred strokes. Past the final corner, there was a dark spot ahead, windows missing glass about an inch above the water line, halfway down the wall.

Luna slowed, rocked her weight to her left foot, tightened her right thigh, and turned from the wall, counter-corrected, and aimed for the darkened place, probably a glassless window, the Outpost’s port.

Only then did she notice the young man kneeling at the edge.

Luna stopped short.

And watched. He was probably a serviceman. She was pretty suspicious of servicemen, considering them, generally speaking, over-trimmed, excessively stiff-backed, and lacking in imagination or style. This one’s buzzed-cut hair and green t-shirt told her nothing different. And what was up with a forest-green t-shirt in the middle of the ocean, anyway? He did have tattoo-sleeves though, Luna just couldn’t tell what the designs were from this distance, so she assumed they were boring patriotic eagles. He seemed like that kind of guy.

Luna didn’t call hello this time, instead she soft-paddled against the current’s port-side-push. Gently. Keeping herself stationary against the drift.

The young man was rubbing his finger along the waterline, just below his floor level, not noticing her arrival.

Luna called, “Where’s Sam?”

“Hu-whoa!” The young man about fell out of the window. He clutched his chest. “Jeez, you scared me sneaking up like that. Whoa.” His brow furrowed. “Phew. Man. Um… Sam’s not here anymore.”

Luna asked, “What are you looking at?”

He squinted at her, sizing her up. She was dark — dark hair, big dark eyes, petite, yet muscular, like an athlete. Thighs like a runner. Biceps like a paddler. He wished he had done his workout that morning. He had been on the Outpost for a while and had slacked off, grown past caring.

Luna sized him up, he was tall and muscular with a strong chin. She wished that she had checked her overall look when she had seen her reflection earlier. And maybe sat in the shade a little more often last week.