Page 28 of The Lottery

As we walk back to our rooms, we talk about the ship, the voyage, what kinds of seeds we brought with us to try and plant.

“Mars is terraformed with many lifeforms already. It will be habitable when we arrive,” I say. “These supplies are partially backups, partially opportunities to expand organic diversity. Much of this we can grow on the ship by converting storage spaces to green rooms, so we have many options for fresh produce and other vegetation.”

She nods as we head down our hall and approach her door first. “I must confess I’m pretty excited to study Mars soil.” She smiles eagerly. “I’d love to see whatever data you have on the planet when you have time. Maybe I can start work before we land?”

More reasons to spend time with her. Better still, this excuse feels entirely proper. Do we not need to be prepared for any eventuality? I nod. “Yes, that would be smart.”

She retreats to her room and I pause a moment, staring at her door.

For the first time I question whether it would have been better to let people choose their own partners, rather than pair everyone up based on an algorithm.

And I cannot help but wonder… if Azalea were free to choose her mate, would she choose me?

It is a question whose answer can only cause me misery.

9

ZAE

"We're going to build a road to space so that our kids and their kids can build the future. And we need to do that. We need to do that to solve the problems here on Earth. It's not about escaping."

–Jeff Bezos, American Billionaire

* * *

Robert and I are engaged in yet another riveting evening of trying to casually coexist in a too-small space for strangers who don’t know each other, when Metis’ smooth voice interrupts. “You are invited to attend a dinner in fifteen minutes, where details will be provided about our ongoing journey to Mars. Dress is cocktail attire.”

“Cocktail attire?” I say with a snort. Seriously? During a space apocalypse? Rich people are ridiculous.

“I think that French woman is hosting,” Robert says, looking as though none of this is news to him. It probably isn’t, since he mingles with the wealthy crowd while I sit in my room, fantasizing about my neighbor.

Just like that, I stop resenting the party and let my mind drift to the man next door. I’ve hardly seen Marek for a fortnight now. We’ve shared brief eye contact when coming or going from our suites at the same time, but we’re always on opposite schedules going in opposite directions. Except for tonight. Tonight, he’ll be at this party.

That thought shouldn’t make me more excited. It shouldn’t inspire me to give extra care to my looks tonight.

It shouldn’t, but it does.

“Lana?” I ask, fighting to show I’m engaged in this conversation as I think of the charismatic woman who rescued me from Buddy. “She’s hosting?”

“It was her idea, anyway,” Robert says. “I don’t see her much, but I know she mentioned wanting to do something for group morale. She’s worried about people becoming too reclusive.”

Robert says the last part with the slightest grin, and I can’t help but smile back. He’s never pressured me to hang out with him or his rich friends, so I’ll allow him a subtle dig.

Now it’s time to see if I still know how to socialize.

I go to the closet stocked with Robert’s picks for me and pull out a long, red, fully sequined cocktail dress with a high neckline, long sleeves, a column silhouette and triangular cutout back.

It’s stunning. I would have scoffed at such extravagance back on Earth, but... when in Rome, I guess.

I take the dress to the bathroom and unzip the back, then step into it and pull it up my body. It hugs my curves so snugly I know I won’t be able to wear any underwear with it. I style my hair into a deliberately messy French twist, then put on a touch of mascara and red lipstick before slipping into a pair of black patent leather flats. I’m not risking heels with my ankle still healing.

Robert is dressed in a collared, charcoal suit, looking like the respectable businessman he is. He smiles when he sees me. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you. You look nice as well.” This feels weird. Like we should be going as a couple, but I don’t feel like a couple with this man. More like strangers stranded together.

He nods, the door opens, and we head to the lift.

Lana’s cocktail party is being held at the far end of the recreational level, a short walk past all the food kiosks and tables. Through the use of lighting and decor, the area has been turned into a ballroom of sorts. The harsh modern lines are softened by lights set to glow like candles, flickering against the walls in golden hues. Buffet tables are piled high with fruit, cheese, and pastries. Most of the tables are dedicated to wine, and the vast selection of Bordeaux, Burgundy and Chenin Blanc makes me think Lana started planning this soiree well before we left Earth.

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