Page 19 of The Lottery

I don’t know if he’s really asleep or if he’s just giving us both some space.

Either way, I’m grateful.

I slip into the bed, the silk sheets cool against my overheated skin.

A few feet away, through these walls, Marek is probably crawling into his own bed as well. Does he sleep in pajamas or naked? He seems like a naked sleeper kind of guy to me.

I lay in bed for some time, my thoughts racing, replaying everything that happened today. Everything that led up to where I am now. Trying to anticipate what will happen tomorrow. The next day. When we arrive on Mars.

The reality of the moment hits me and I feel like I’ve got the spins. I’m lying in a bed, hours after boarding a spaceship that’s currently hurtling into the Milky Way. It’s unreal. Unfathomable.

My future is impossible to imagine. Literally impossible. I… this has never happened to me before.

It’s terrifying.

It’s also… kind of liberating.

Anything is possible.

Literally anything.

When my mind is done spinning and conjuring and driving me to distraction, it is once again Marek’s cobalt eyes that I land on and fall into.

And it’s those dreamy eyes that I fall asleep to my first night in space.

6

MAREK

“I’m talking about sending ultimately tens of thousands, eventually millions of people to Mars and then going out there and exploring the stars."

—Elon Musk, South African/Canadian Billionaire

* * *

I stare at my computer screens, but my mind is not focused on the information displayed. I think only of Azalea, of her delicate fingers covered in dirt as she potted her precious tree. Of the smudge on her nose that I ached to wipe clean, just to feel her skin once more. Of the way her eyes crinkle when she laughs—truly laughs, all the way to her depth. I want to bring that joy back into her soul again.

I smack my palm against the desk in frustration and stand. Satellite footage and interferometer readings are not helping me let go of these distracting thoughts.

Stripping off my clothes quickly, I head to the bathroom and turn the shower to the coldest setting. It is an old Russian tradition, to dunk into frigid water to support immunity and health. Today I do it to support sanity.

The cold stream is a shock to my senses, invigorating my mind and body in equal measure. I have always done my best thinking in cold showers.

This time, I am trying not to think at all. Or to think on things that serve my purpose here. The ship. The crew. This new community. Our trip. These are my priorities. Not the beautiful brunette next door.

With quick efficiency I wash my hair and body, pushing my thoughts toward the voyage as I mentally tick off the issues I have to address. Data relating to agriculture and crop growth is not meeting earlier estimations. One engine on tier two seems to generate more heat than the others, leaving me and our chief nuclear engineer perplexed. Some alcohol has gone missing from the storage rooms. A few people have complained about having to get their own food in the cafeteria rather than being served by a waitstaff… as if that should have been a priority. I shake my head, annoyed at the petty mindsets I have had to deal with to make this mission work. And then I hear a moan coming from the suite next to mine.

Azalea’s suite.

I freeze, sucking in my breath.

Our bathrooms are adjacent, and that did not sound like a man’s voice.

It is her. I know it. I can feel her closeness like a physical thing.

I do not hear the water running so she must be taking a bath or dressing for bed.

I hear a whimper, and another quiet moan of pleasure and my body responds instantly.

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