Page 33 of The Lottery

“I…” I pause as I lose the words that might make sense of all this to Azalea. Yes, there were ways I could have gone about this more legitimately, but it would have meant admitting something to others I have not even wanted to admit to myself. This woman though, she is a mirror, forcing me to face that which I have avoided for so long.

“I… took liberties with my position in this mission. My technicians and analysts entered every unwed passenger to be paired with another. Except me.”

Azalea leans away from me, a small and subtle movement that causes my heart to shoot into my throat. I know she detests the forced pairings, as she should. It is unnatural, perhaps immoral, and yet it is the choice we left ourselves. With such a small group charged with saving humankind, incompatibility was not an option.

“Contrary to what you see,” I say, “I would not wish your position on anyone. I have spent a decade terraforming and landscaping Mars, advising the construction of an enormous space shuttle, and vetting people who could help our species survive on a new planet. Through all of it, committing to the algorithm was the hardest part.”

“So why did you do it?”

I open my mouth, but hesitate. While the decision was difficult, the choice was obvious. The math showed me the way. Explaining that to such a passionate soul as Azalea will be complicated.

“It improved our odds of success,” I say. “If I can remove the variable of interpersonal conflict, at least in the early stages, our chances to manage adaptation increase tenfold.”

She considers my words, which I take as a victory--small though it may be.

“So why leave yourself out of the process?” She places her hand back on her knee, inches from mine. I watch her fingers dance over the fabric of her red cocktail dress and resist the desire to reach for them. Instead, I allow my hand to relax, inching just close enough to hers that once again our fingers brush against each other’s. She does not pull away, but rather, exhales and leans into the touch.

When I am this close to Azalea, I feel a kind of peace I have spent my life grasping at but never reaching, and that is a heady thing to deny oneself.

“I couldn’t imagine balancing the ship’s duties with the stress and anxiety of a relationship.”

The words barely make it out of my throat, choked back by irony as I stare at Azalea, captivated by and addicted to her presence. She looks away thoughtfully, and I feel as though I can read her mind. She too would rather have avoided the selection of a partner, the forced cohabitation, the commitment to a man chosen for her by an unfeeling computer. Moments ago she was concerned about my loneliness, now I suspect she would trade places with me in an instant.

“That’s fair,” she finally says, deciding on a word I would not have expected. “Maybe not fair for all of us, but fair for you. It’s your ship, your rules. I know I wouldn’t want you to make a mistake and kill us all because you were too busy trying to get to know whoever the code set you up with.”

I let my mind briefly entertain my pairing, should I have allowed it. Who I would have been matched with if I had let Metis include me in The Lottery.

Were it anyone but Azalea, it is better I never entered at all.

“So everyone else on the ship has a partner?” Azalea asks, pulling me from a rabbit hole of what ifs. It takes my thoughts a moment to return to the present. Azalea must interpret my silence as confusion, because she clarifies her question

“The crew, are they paired? With their own algorithm or something?”

I shake my head. “I chose not to involve them. They have all worked tirelessly for years, preparing for this journey and studying the conditions of our new home. It seemed prudent to let nature take its course so that the men and women below can focus on keeping us alive.”

I see a hint of jealousy in Azalea’s eyes, and I wish there was something I could do. That I could turn back time and pull her from the algorithm. Or, perhaps do a trial run with my name in the coding, just to see what the match would have been…

“Why did you do this?” she asks, once again breaking me from my hypothetical fantasies. Her question seems all-encompassing and I hesitate, unsure of how to answer.

“I… I had to. If we did not enforce the pairings, 60 people would have been left behind. Most of the billionaire’s didn’t want to share their suites with anyone. I convinced them otherwise, even if I had to do it under the pretense of companionship and repopulating a new world. We--”

“Not that.” She brushes a strand of hair from her eyes, and my fingers itch to feel the smooth skin of her cheek, but I clench my fists and resist every urge I have to bring myself closer to this woman. “Not like, why did you want to save humanity, or create an algorithm or any of that,” she says. “But why you?” She bites her bottom lip, her eyes flicking up at me. “What inspired you to transform another planet? What made you think you could do it?”

When she finishes her questions, she leans toward me, resting her chin on her right hand, her elbow propped on her knee, her left hand still resting so close to mine that when she shifts, our fingers brush against each other and even that limited touch sets my body on fire.

We are a breath apart. So close. Dangerously so.

I consider myself a man with great control, but it is absolutely waning in this moment.

I focus on her question, tearing my eyes away from the curves of her breasts and hips beneath her form-fitting dress.

“My grandfather was a farmer,” I say, my memories drifting back to my childhood, which feels now like another life entirely. “A potato farmer in Russia like his father before him. I helped him work the land and would watch him grow angry with a spoiled crop. He would blame God or the earth or the potatoes themselves. He came from an old way of thinking—control belonged to a higher power, something outside his reach. I saw roots that needed nourishing, soil in need of water, ground that had been asked to produce for too long. Instead of shouting these thoughts to the sky or cursing the dirt beneath my feet… I went to the internet.”

Azalea smiles. How is she so mesmerizing? So perfect? How am I so lucky to have her company when another is entitled to it?

More thoughts to push from your head, Marek. Enjoy the moment now, it will be fleeting.

“I took to the science of computing the way I did the realities of farming,” I continue. “I engineered software for the soil, first to help my own family, then other poor families in the surrounding community.”

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