Leveling
Table of Contents
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Part II
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Leveling
Diana Knightley
Contents
The Outpost
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
The Ship
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Also by Diana Knightley
Also by H. D. Knightley (My YA pen name)
Acknowledgments
About me, Diana Knightley
Copyright © 2018 by Diana Knightley
All rights reserved. Including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book by way of the internet or by way of any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please buy only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.
Created with Vellum
For Isobel, Fiona, Gwyneth, and Ean
Swim deep and float well, my lovelies, for love is a grand thing.
Part I
The Outpost
Chapter 1
As Luna dipped her 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, lik
e 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.
Chapter 2
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.
Chapter 3
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.”