Page 7 of The Lottery

It is good that Metis cannot feel anger. If I had her capabilities, I would shut the ship down and tell Buddy to enjoy his last few breaths of noxious air on Earth before incinerating him beneath the ship’s jets.

I walk through my doors and pass by Azalea's room, where I hear the muffled voices of Azalea and Robert, and I wonder at what it must be like getting to know the person you are expected to mate with, as we prepare to launch into space.

My mind wanders to what it would feel like getting to know Azalea Clark better, and I run a hand over my face to clear my head, then make my way to the gravity lift at the center of the ship. I need to stop thinking of that woman, so instead I focus on my destination.

There are five levels total within the ship, with our primary suites located on the third. The first level at the base of the vessel is devoted to cargo; things we will need for building, planting, growing and developing what should already be a very habitable land. The level immediately below us houses working crew. One level above us is the dining and recreation facilities and then the top deck is the bridge.

The outer shell of the vessel is segmented along the five tiers, providing the option to discharge one of the levels if need be. Any portion of the ship can operate independently, should something catastrophic happen and the need arise. I shudder as I step into the gravity lift, hoping we won’t ever have to test that element of the ship’s design.

The lift’s computer does a retinal scan, then beeps when I’m identified. “Bridge,” I bark, ready to give Buddy Fischer a piece of my mind.

After a brief moment, the lift doors open and I storm out. The pilot’s station is empty, though a quick look to the left reveals why.

“I’m not trying to be a dick, but I think it’s a fair question.” Buddy Fischer—6’3”, stocky and barrel-chested—towers over an elderly woman in a wheelchair. “This is a fight for survival and someone got to bring their handicapped grandma along?”

I am enraged by Fischer’s words, but not surprised. From everything I have read, he enjoys being in the spotlight, even if it is unseemly behavior that garners said attention.

I move over to intervene, but Elspeth Millard, the wheelchair-bound woman who has been on the receiving end of this tirade, catches my eye and stops me with a subtle look. She does not need my help. She has never needed anyone’s help.

She just smirks at the man, staring at him with her icy gray gaze. She speaks with a soft Scottish lilt and no shortness of gravitas. “I’m here because my brain is worth more than your balls and whatever procreating you think you might do with them. If you don’t mind, I have a ship to launch.”

She wheels past Mr. Fischer, who looks somewhat shell-shocked at being so readily dismissed. Before he can continue his beef with Elspeth, I step in between them.

“Is everything okay with your room?” I ask, resisting the urge to fight this man and instead trying to play the role of host.

“Did you hear her?” Buddy asks, his eyes still on Elspeth. “Did you hear—”

“Elspeth Millard is our captain and the designer of this entire spacecraft,” I answer cooly. “She is in charge of not just landing us on Mars, but making sure all 70,000 cubic meters of the vessel are in perfect condition so we do not all perish the second we leave Earth’s atmosphere. When we are on the bridge, she may speak as she likes.”

Buddy’s face turns bright red. Apparently he thought I might take his side.

“We are already behind schedule, Mr. Fischer,” I say. “We do not have minutes to spare, so please return to your quarters.” I have been told my accent is stronger when I am angry, but I do not bother trying to minimize it. Let him hear my anger. Let it motivate him to do better.

He looks from me to Elspeth and then back into my eyes for a quick beat before turning toward the door. I am confident this will not be the last unpleasant encounter I have with Buddy Fischer. I was part of the committee that vetted and approved each of the billionaires funding this project, but I was not the only deciding factor. I voted to pass on Buddy, but the others felt we needed his money.

I glare as he leaves, then approach Elspeth with a wry smile. “Putting everyone in their places, I see.”

She snorts. “Oh it’ll take more than some smack talk from an old lady to put that bastard anywhere near his place, but it warms the cockles of my heart that I can at least be part of the solution.”

I chuckle. “You always have been, Elspeth.”

She gives me a playful wink, a gesture one would not expect unless they knew her as I do. She keeps her silver hair pulled back in a tight bun, her black and gray uniform neatly pressed with sharp creases on each pant leg. Her aged face is lined with a lifetime of memories, but her gray eyes are sharp as ever. Elspeth Millard means business.

Even at 89 years old, she was my first and only choice for this mission. She started as a pilot in the Royal Air Force before the American Space Force brought her in to train their astronauts. After a few years of trying and failing to get the United States government to stop seeing outer space as just another place to fight wars, she moved on to private exploratory enterprises. That is when I found her.

She has spent her entire life in a wheelchair and has embraced flying without the ability to walk. Like a blind person with a heightened sense of hearing, Elspeth Millard has an awareness of physics and gravity that simply cannot be taught. She will command the ship safely, of that I am certain.

She wheels over to the helm as she talks. “We’re behind schedule, Marek. I hope there’s a good reason you’ve put all of our lives at risk.”

“The boarding bridge collapsed as the last passenger was crossing. I helped the woman onboard.” I try to keep my description brief. I do not want to give away any of the heady emotions I feel when I remember Azalea. The way she felt in my arms as I carried her to my room. The way she reached for her tree cutting—‘It’s all I have left’, she had said.

Elspeth narrows her eyes at me, like she knows there is more to the story. I hold her gaze, my expression neutral as her stare lingers, then she moves on with a shrug. “I assume you’re here to get this party started?” she asks as she moves her wheelchair to a central command post. As she arrives, a control panel rises from an open bay in the floor to meet her.

I move to stand beside her and shake my head.

“I came to clear the bridge of unqualified people. This is your ship, Captain Millard. You give the launching command.”

Elspeth grins and nods. “That’s what I like to hear.”

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