Page 84 of The Lottery

He and Astrid both look eager to help and I grit my teeth, wishing I had better news.

We will survive without our rations, of this I am certain. That does not mean people will be happy with my report.

“The cargo was lost.” My words are met by a chorus of gasps from the nearby crew members. “The shuttle crashed into a lake and sustained too much damage to keep the water out.”

Azalea steps over by my side to offer support. She stays a foot away, though our bodies beg us to move closer. The magnetic pull between us is hard to ignore.

“What does that mean for us?” Astrid asks, her eyes showing concern but her voice steady.

“We no longer have a surplus of resources,” I answer. “We will have to double our efforts to farm and gather and hunt, but there is no need to panic. It was always the plan to live off the land. We could never hope to bring enough supplies to support our community indefinitely. We must simply escalate our timeline for self-sufficiency. This planet is ready to support us. Our survival is not at risk.”

There are nods from the group, though I am sure not every fear is abated. I admire their commitment to our cause and willingness to trust me.

Without trust, our community will turn on itself. Disagreements will lead to mutiny. Lawlessness will go unchecked.

Our common goal of survival is the tie that binds, and as long as I present myself as a leader who will keep people alive, my words and rules carry weight.

The moment I seem drawn to selfish interests, my authority will slip away.

A voice in my head screams at me to stay near Azalea, but instead I take a few steps away toward the other crew members. The small distance I put between us feels like an entire galaxy, and I know she senses it. The gesture anguishes me, but it must be done. I cannot pursue my affair with Azalea with the reckless abandon we showed in the cave.

I must be only a leader in this moment.

“Everyone should get some rest,” I announce. “At dawn tomorrow, I shall make an address regarding how we should proceed.”

More nods from the group, many of whom immediately head toward the ship, no doubt tired from a long day of work and worry.

Declan and Astrid linger, sharing a look before Declan approaches. “May I have a word?” he asks.

He and I have only exchanged pleasantries and money in the past, so I have little idea what he needs to speak to me about. “Of course.”

“Not to take up your precious time, but this is a sensitive matter best discussed away from a larger group.”

I glance from side to side, searching for an unwelcome party who might be listening in. Instinctively, my eyes find Azalea, who stands at my back, a look of longing and sorrow on her face. My thoughts are no secret to her, and a lump catches in my throat as I consider the heartache I have made her feel.

I want nothing except to be with her.

If that is ever to happen, I must show restraint at present.

Azalea takes her cue, bidding us all goodnight and walking to the ship, her eyes cast downwards, an empty smile on her lips.

Watching her go, I feel as though I cannot breathe.

“You were only gone two nights,” Declan starts, jolting me back to the conversation. “But in that time, it’s become clear that some of our colleagues have a different idea about how things should be run here.” He steals another look at Astrid before he continues. “People aren’t pulling their weight. A good number seem to think the work will take care of itself.”

I know the people Declan speaks of without him mentioning a name. In truth, I had long wondered about how quickly our elite guests—those who earned their way aboard my ship with funds instead of merit—would become liabilities. It should come as no surprise that it only took a few days.

“How many?” I ask.

“A decent number,” Declan replies. “I would say half the passengers who consider themselves in our ranks.”

Annoyed as I am by the news, I smile at Declan’s choice of words. We both used our bank accounts as leverage for this journey, yet we would not consider ourselves to be like the others. The Buddy Fischers of the world.

Of our world.

Of Mars.

They will learn their privilege died with Earth’s last breath.

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