Page 12 of The Lottery

Robert stands and looks around, running a hand through his hair. “I’m going to get some ice for your injuries, and I’ll bring us our dinner so you can rest tonight.” He pauses. “If that’s okay?”

I smile. “That sounds great, thank you.”

He nods, turns to leave, then stops and looks back at me. “I… uh. I didn’t know what you would need or what you would have, so I took the liberty of stocking the closet with some clothes. Help yourself to anything you’d like.”

With that he leaves the room.

I’m finally alone.

Thank goodness.

I stand carefully and shuffle toward the closet. On one side are suits, khakis and polo shirts lining the wall. On the other are dresses, slacks, blouses, shoes. I let my fingers slide over the red silk of a ball gown beaded with thousands of rhinestones, then shake my head and close the door.

It’s a thoughtful gesture, I suppose. I only brought a few essential articles of clothing in my little backpack, so the extra stuff will definitely come in handy. Though I can’t imagine why I’ll need a ballgown on Mars.

Still. I’m grateful I’m paired with someone who seems kind and respectful. I vow to try a little harder to get to know him. If we can’t have a burning love, perhaps we can at least have a friendship founded on mutual respect and care.

I limp back to the bed, my body aching despite the alcohol flowing through my bloodstream, when a soft chime comes from the doorway. I look around, not knowing what the sound means or if I’m supposed to do something. I didn’t get a chance to acclimate myself to the room and its amenities—I was too busy burning the shit out of my body, dislocating my arm, twisting my ankle, nearly knocking myself silly.

When I don’t do or say anything, the computer voice from earlier speaks. “I am called Metis. I am at your service. Would you like me to open the door?”

“Who is it?” I ask.

The small screen we watched our departure on comes to life, providing a digital version of a peephole. On the screen, and therefore on the other side of our door, is the first and last person I want to see.

Marek Volkav.

He’s even beautiful on a tiny monitor. Damn him.

My pulse raises and a flood of hormones surges through me, pissing me off. “Uh. Sure, I guess. Let him in.”

The doors open and reveal the life-size Marek, holding a hastily wrapped parcel in front of him, flexed triceps straining against his long-sleeve shirt. I move my eyes up from his body and am immediately locked into his gaze. Time is frozen. My breath is gone. There are only his eyes and mine.

“Azalea,” Marek says in a serious tone, serious enough to make me think I’ve done something wrong. “I need to speak to you.”

4

MAREK

“We are all … children of this universe. Not just Earth, or Mars, or this system, but the whole grand fireworks. And if we are interested in Mars at all, it is only because we wonder over our past and worry terribly about our possible future.”

—Ray Bradbury, American Author

* * *

Azalea’s expression morphs from pleased to entirely displeased in a flash. I hesitate, wondering if I should just leave her be.

No. This will only take a moment.

I remind myself I have scaled taller mountains than giving a woman a small gift.

She steps back from the entryway, a wordless invitation for me to enter.

I know Robert has left for the cafeteria, thanks to Metis.

I did not wish to interrupt their first meeting more than I already have.

Now I have no excuse left, and time is of the essence.

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