Page 10 of The Lottery

All the suites are built into the interior of this giant space-traveling monstrosity, so we’re not looking out windows. Instead we witness our goodbye to Earth through a small flat screen on the wall in front of our king sized bed. It shows a blue glow coming off giant coils at the base of the ship, heat waves rippling off the fire below us and the ship’s boosters.

Even as we appear to be picking up speed, I don’t feel the inertia. The ship remains comfortable despite what my eyes tell me is happening.

It’s a horrible, detached feeling. We don’t deserve this comfort. Not while we watch the planet we destroyed slowly shrink into the distance.

I dig my fingers into the cool, gray, satin comforter, then wince at the pain I inflict on myself. My palms are still bandaged and medicated to help heal the burn blisters. I turn away from the screen, hoping a change of view will keep me from thinking about the poor remaining people whose numbers weren’t drawn and won’t survive much longer. Thirty seconds into the voyage and it’s clear my survivor’s guilt won’t be waning any time soon.

Robert and I are both sitting on the edge of the bed, a few feet between us. His eyes stay glued to the screen and I steal a chance to look him over. A few gray streaks in his hair confirm what his brief bio said. He looks in his mid-40s. He’s eleven years older than me, which isn’t much at all. He’s in good shape and smells like he put on just the right amount of cologne this morning.

A laugh escapes my throat while I toil with the mordant thought of people going through their morning routines—shit, shower, shave, even cologne—before leaving Earth forever. Robert’s head snaps my way, an eyebrow cocked as he tries to figure out what joke he missed.

“Sorry,” I say before he has a chance to ask a question. “This whole thing, I’m just… sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says, looking back at the screen. There’s a trace of sorrow in his voice, and the perpetual smile he was wearing is replaced by a frown. “To be honest, I’ve been dreading this day for weeks. Months, even.”

Right. He’s had time to prepare. For me, the Lottery happened only two weeks ago, the whole mission fast-tracked as conditions got worse around the launch site. The original plan, I believe, was not to have passengers cross a rickety bridge over a fire pit, but rather board smoothly and safely before takeoff.

Robert, however, has probably known he was leaving Earth with Marek for years. Whenever he decided to help fund this project, that’s when Mr. Rackman knew he’d one day be shuttled off to space.

I study the scuffed black boot on my uninjured foot, now streaked with soot, as I force the anger back into my stomach so I don’t start ranting about what could have been if not for greed and short-sightedness and apathy. Robert and I have the rest of our lives to get into that fight.

I must still be putting out some hostile vibes, as he shifts on the bed to move a few inches further away from me.

“Listen…” he says, his cheeks a little pinker than they were a moment ago. “This pairing situation, our new algorithmic union. It’s terrifying, right?”

Now it’s my turn to snap my head toward him in surprise. Over the last week I’d convinced myself the billionaires on the ship must all be excited about winning mates through this lottery. They’re all trophy hunters anyway, right? Now they get to add a human lottery prize to their collections.

Apparently that’s not Robert’s take. It’s a welcome surprise, and I stare into his eyes and wait for him to say more.

“I’ve been married to my work since I was, well… since forever, I guess.” He fidgets with his watch strap while he talks, unbuckling and rebuckling with nimble fingers. At a glance, I’m guessing he's casually toying with a $40,000 wrist accessory.

“Anyway, that’s all to say, forgive my awkwardness while we get to know each other.” Robert offers a charming and disarming smile. Maybe this is all just a tactic he’s using to get into my pants, but my gut tells me he’s sincere. As much as I despise its creator, the algorithm that matched us is supposed to be… effective at pairing compatible people. I guess time will tell. “Noted,” I say with a smile. “I’ll forgive you being awkward, and you don’t take my fits of rage personally.”

“I’ll probably take it a little personally,” Robert says with a sheepish grin.

“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’ll save just about all of my ire for our fearless leader.”

“Marek?”

The mention of his name floods my system with conflicting emotions. I hate the Marek I know, or at least the one I’ve known, but now that sentiment has to contend with the butterflies I feel for the Marek I just met. The one who saved me, who turns out to be devilishly handsome even when he’s not posing for a magazine cover. Even when he’s shirtless and carrying me through fire. Even when his waistband is pressing against my upper thighs as he prepares to pop my shoulder back into its socket…

“Yeah, him,” I say with a quick exhale, pulling my mind back into the moment. I rub my injured shoulder, trying to work out the ache. “The guy who’s ‘saving’ us.”

Robert gives me a strange look when I put “saving” in air quotes. “But he is saving us, right? You don’t believe we could survive on Earth, do you?”

“We certainly could have,” I respond, meeting Robert’s look with an unwavering gaze. “If people like Marek—and people like you—had started caring about the world ten or twenty years ago, yeah, I believe we could have survived. It wouldn’t have been easy, but we could have helped the planet heal and kept a shitload of people from dying.”

Robert looks away, a little stung by my attack. I’m not actively trying to make him feel like shit, but I’m too worked up to slow my roll.

“But here we are,” I continue, “headed to a planet we hope can sustain us because a Russian gazillionaire wanted to start a vanity society instead of flying his jet a few less times a week.”

I really don’t know how Robert’s going to respond, but I’m glad I got this off my chest. I’ve been arguing with self-centered billionaires in my head for years; now I can see what happens when I make my case in person.

To my surprise, Robert just nods.

“I never tried,” he says softly. “I didn’t really know what trying looked like, but that’s not an excuse. I’ve been driving electric vehicles since my 30s, hired subcontractors that were LEED certified, donated to climate-conscious candidates...”

I know where this is going. I’ve heard it before.

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