Chapter 9
Luna did finally sleep. Then she woke up. Beckett’s deep breaths were long and rhythmic. She tried four different positions then unknotted the pretend ropes and stepped from their coil. She strolled down the eastern wall of windows, peering out into the darkness, craning up at the sky. It was black except for the roving floodlights flashing by, sparkling on the drips rolling down the windows. Drip, driiiipppp, driiiiiiiiiiiiippppppppp.
A lone Nomad watching water roll down an Outpost’s windows was perhaps the most lonely thing in the world. Lonelier even than an afraid-of-the-water serviceman watching water levels rise all alone in an Outpost. Or maybe not, but it was all kind of the same. She turned and walked up the southern wall. Still black. Pitch black.
She returned to bed and curled up in the quilt watching Beckett in the ambient glow of the occasional floodlight flash. Gravity had gotten hold of his face. There was something spectacular about sleeping on land, a true letting go—loss of control. On land if you went to sleep in one place, the chances were high you would wake up in the same place, without being accosted by things that swim by in the night.
Out on the ocean sleeping required sentries and one-eye-open and lightness and concern. Sleep was never total; it was always a half-sleep. Itself a type of rest but different.
Luna fell asleep.
Luna woke up.
The sky was lighter, but the moon was high. The cloud cover must have dissipated. She considered climbing to the rooftop to see, but didn’t want to scare Beckett with her absence if he woke up. Being left was never okay, especially when you’re sleeping. Please don’t go when someone is sleeping.
She went to the window and watched the floodlights dance on the smaller waves. Tomorrow would be a comfortable day, clear skies, light breezes, but middle night crept by with it’s worrisome sleeplessness. She turned from the window and looked at the pile of bedding that was Beckett and crept back to bed.
