Page 31 of The Lottery

I don’t really need the bathroom, but I’m not sure where else to go. I just know I don’t want to be here. I continue toward the gravity lift while mentally running through my options. I could go back to my room, but I never really feel comfortable there. The storage level has probably been rearranged again. I always find something new when I go there. But… I’d have to change clothes. This dress isn’t conducive to crouching.

It isn’t conducive for much.

Then I have an idea. “Metis, can you tell me a good spot to go find some quiet, be alone, away from big crowds, and just… breathe?” I’m not sure how artificial intelligence will process this request, but she hasn’t led me astray yet. “If you’ve got somewhere with a view, even better,” I add.

“Most of your criteria can be met in the Observation Room. Stay on level four, follow the green lights down the hall.”

As she says this, a line of forest-green lights begin to flicker on the floor, guiding me past several rooms toward one at the end of a long hall I’d never paid attention to before. When I reach the end of the walkway, an automatic door opens.

It’s dark within, and quiet.

I smile and slip into the darkness, my gaze drawn toward a large, wall-sized window that showcases… well, space. So many stars bursting against the velvety pitch, I gasp and move closer, mesmerized.

“It is the only window on the ship,” a deep Russian voice says from the shadows behind me.

I turn, gasping, my hand on my chest, adrenaline pumping through me at the unexpected interruption. “You scared me!”

Marek steps out of the shadows. “Apologies, that was not my intention. I wanted to break the silence so my presence did not alarm you.”

“Consider it broken,” I say with a relieved chuckle, my heart beating frantically against my ribs as I try to calm myself. “Metis said this was empty.”

“Inaccurate,” the AI voice says, giving me another startle. “I said it fulfilled most of your criteria. Empty was not one of them.”

Ha. Well fine then. I guess I should have been more clear.

“I can leave,” Marek says. “If you prefer to be alone.”

“No, don’t.” I hold out a hand, though I don’t touch him. My voice trembles slightly, and I hope he doesn’t notice. “You were here first.”

He smiles and that dimple on his chin deepens, distracting me momentarily from his words. “Then perhaps we can both stay and enjoy the view?” He moves to the bar in the corner, dozens of bottles backlit by blue lights. A marble counter space with four stools. He pours us each a drink, then brings mine to me before sitting on one of the small couches that face the view, leaving room on one side for me.

I join him, our thighs close enough to touch once we are settled. I’m keenly aware of every part of his body that presses against mine, and I swallow a mouthful of whiskey to give an excuse for my flushed cheeks.

“Were you not enjoying the dinner?” Marek asks. I can feel the heat of his gaze on me, and I turn to face him. I hold my drink on my knee, same as him, and when I shift, our knuckles graze against each other. I pause, letting the feather-like touch remain. His body stills as well, the air in the room sucked out as we both hold our breath, then exhale in the next moment.

“The dinner. Right.” I breathe. Or try to. Our knuckles are still touching. That’s all I can think about. His skin on mine. That one small spot that is holding all the heat between us. “It was a little much,” I say, forcing myself to answer his question. “To be honest, I find it bizarre that we’re holding to past social standards rather than learning to embrace a new way of living.”

My sharp words are at odds with the breathless delivery of them. His nearness is scrambling my brain.

“I agree. I did not find it enjoyable either,” he says, looking into his tumbler. “I do think our hostess had the best of intentions. Still, if it were my decision, all of this would be quite different.”

“If it’s not your decision, then whose? Aren’t you the one in charge?”

He leans in after taking another drink, moving closer to me. Our fingers brush against each other, our pinkies almost interlocking.

“Many of the decisions were made to appease investors. No one wanted to travel to Mars in anything less than luxury. Absurd but necessary to ensure the voyage could happen at all.” His eyes are on my lips, and I lick them and enjoy how his nostrils flare in response.

Our conversation feels like it’s happening in the background. White noise to what’s really important.

“They will have to face reality eventually,” I say, my finger ever so slightly moving against his. A shiver running up my spine as he presses back.

“We all will,” he agrees. “It will be hard. But at least we will not be alone.”

I blink. “So that’s why you did it... The Lottery. You gave everyone the best chance at happiness in this new reality, didn’t you?” I ask, seeing the algorithm in a different light for the first time. It still has a shit ton of problems, but now I get it. With only a few hundred people left to rebuild our species, The Lottery doesn’t just give us a better chance at baby making… it gives us all a better chance at happiness. At companionship. At not facing the scary future alone.

Everyone except Marek, I realize.

I reach for his hand and give it a gentle squeeze. “I… heard about the woman who was partnered with you. I’m so sorry.”

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