Page 47 of The Lottery

Despite my best intentions, time and distance have not stripped away what is growing in my heart. I still crave her with every breath, and like a true addict, I will do what I must for another hit--for the calm surrender that infuses me when I am near her.

I take care with my appearance and pull out the one tux I brought, at Elspeth’s insistence. I am adjusting my cuffs in the mirror when there is a chime at the door.

For one brilliant, shining moment, I think it is Azalea.

Until Metis speaks. “Your chief engineer is at the door. Shall I let her in?”

Astrid? Why would she be here? If there’s a problem with the ship, she can alert me via Metis.

I stride to the door and it opens. This is the first time I have seen Astrid out of her uniform. She wears an ankle-length, pale blue gown that matches her eyes, her long blond hair twisted into a knot at the base of her neck. She is as beautiful as she is brilliant. She will have no problem finding a natural match within the crew. I find a small comfort in that.

“Is everything well?” I ask immediately.

She blinks, then hesitates. “Oh yes. Sorry. No, there’s no problem. I should have known that would be your first thought with me showing up like this. No, um, I was just wondering. Well, do you maybe want to go to the ball together tonight? As friends? I hope this isn’t too presumptuous. I’m not trying to hit on you. I just figured you might be lonely, and I know I am, and we could maybe both use someone to talk to?”

My gaze slips to the suite neighboring mine. Azalea will be there with Robert. Do I want someone to talk to? Someone to distract me from my primary desire of watching Azalea, looking for a chance to speak with her?

No. I want to give all my attention to Azalea.

But that is not wise. Or possible.

“Is that where she lives? The woman?” Astrid asks.

I want to steer the conversation back to something less personal, so I just clear my throat. “Thank you for the offer but--”

Before I can finish my sentence she interrupts. “Please? You’d be doing me a big favor. And… I’m a good listener if you need some relationship advice. Not that I’m in the best position to be giving any.”

I hesitate, torn with whether to accept her invitation. I desire only Azalea and her company, but that is the problem itself. Astrid is smart and kind. She would make a fine dinner companion for anyone.

Anyone but me.

In my moment of conflict, Azalea’s suite door opens and my refusal freezes in my throat. She exits first, saying something to Robert before she notices me and Astrid and pauses, her eyes dancing back and forth between us. Her jaw tightens. Her eyes narrow. Though she smiles, it is tight and does not reach the rest of her face.

Despite her frosty glare, Azalea is stunning. Her long, dark hair falls loosely around her shoulders in soft curls. Her lips are red and make me think of ripe apples on a fall day. She wears a flowing layered gown in crimson to match her lips, and I am instantly mesmerized by her every curve, every expanse of soft pale skin, every movement of her voluptuous body. Her eyes pop through charcoal makeup, and she looks at me as a goddess might, as if seeing straight into my soul.

Astrid steps forward and smiles at Azalea. “Hi there. Are you two heading to the ball as well?” Then she laughs. “Or is there another party on this ship I didn’t know about?”

Robert joins our group and gregariously offers his hand to Astrid.

After introductions are made, he claps his hands decidedly. “Shall we all head out then?”

And just like that, I have an unexpected ‘friend’ date to the ball.

Robert and Astrid make small talk about the ship and engines while Azalea and I silently avoid looking at each other.

We both fail, and it steals my breath when she flushes at being caught staring at me as I stare at her.

I just want to pull her aside, away from all of this, and talk. How have you been? I can only get so much information from Metis. I find myself wanting for an AI programmed with lower ethical standards.

It is for the best, though. I am too obsessed as it is.

The lift arrives and we all clamber inside, mismatched couples in a Molière farce with an Asimov twist.

I imagine this moment as a scene from a play, the kind my babushka would take me to each New Year’s as a child. Her gift to me. Theater is where I first began to learn English, watching the comedies of Shakespeare. But this scene, it would move beyond farce, I think. Into tragedy.

Robert and Astrid carry the conversation until we arrive at the ballroom, which, upon casual glance, looks impressive enough. It would never have passed for a full-blown gala event on Earth, but for a ship with limited resources it features more extravagance than I would have allowed had it been left up to me. Which likely means it is just shy of enough for the others.

Before anyone can say otherwise, Astrid claims a four-person table for us--with two chairs on each side. She and I sit on opposite sides of each other, while Robert takes the seat next to her.

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