Нэнси Кресс - The End Is Nigh

“They fucking lied to me, Em. They knew this was going to happen for weeks. My boss knew ! They just were negotiating how late they would have to wait before handing over the keys to the government.” She slams her fist into the wall. “They knew. They fucking knew !”

“Then why didn’t they fly us out earlier?”

“I don’t know. Because they’re evil bastards. Because I was doing my job too well. Does it matter?” She sits down next to me. “We’re fucked .”

I put my arms around her and rest my head on her shoulder. “No we’re not. You’re safe. That’s something. And my appointment is in a few days.” I had hoped my appointment wouldn’t matter, but now it would be the single most important moment of my life. Lynn—who has been my rock for the past eight years—looks like she’s going to fall apart. I didn’t realize she had invested so much in Star News getting us out of the country. “Hey.” I lift my head, touch her chin, and turn her face to mine. “You know me. I’m the luckiest person in the world.” She isn’t crying, and that somehow makes her pain seem worse. “After all, I have you.”

She is crying now. I hold my palm against her cheek. We kiss, and there isn’t anything else to say.

When we arrive for my appointment, I leave Lynn behind, and it his her turn to wait amongst the desperation. During my walk to the gate I think about the unfairness of it all. This entire trip would be unnecessary if Lynn and I were married. She’d won, and thus I would have won, too.

I go through a metal detector, a magnetic resonance scanner, and a chemical detector of some sort. Signs everywhere warn people that if they are carrying any banned substances at all they will lose their place in the lottery. A few people are going through the process with me, and they look nervous and drawn, almost haunted. I wonder if I look the same way. The soldiers are business-like and intimidating but nice enough.

I walk up to a guard at a booth on the other side of the security room and hand him my ID. He looks at it and then at my face. He nods and swipes the license through a magnetic stripe reader. “Room 5A.” He points to his left. “Down the hall and make a right.” He hands my ID back and waves to the person behind me.

I enter room 5A. Lynn had already walked me through the whole process, so I’m prepared. Still, the utter ordinariness of the office is striking. I am about to face life or death, and I’m sitting in a metal folding chair facing a metal desk with a computer and a phone. The name on the desk says “Samuel Esposito.” Mister Esposito, who looks to be in his thirties, is sitting behind the desk wearing a drab suit.

“Ms. Hollister. Nice to meet you. I’m Sam.” He stands to greet me and sits down only after I say hello and seat myself.

He proceeds to recite a script about the background of the Meyer Asteroid, the difficulty in dealing with the scope of such a catastrophe, and how if the government could relocate everybody then, my goodness, of course they would.

But they can’t, he notes, and he continues to go on about the origin of the Expatriation Lottery, why it’s not perfect but that it’s the best anyone could come up with.

He says all this with a natural cadence and a pleasant voice. He’s friendly, and I’m rather fond of how sympathetic he sounds as he outlines something that will kill hundreds of millions of people. But before he can continue with his well-worn script, I stop him.

“Now Sam, is it really the best the government could come up with?” I ask the question with my most pleasant politically-honed voice.

“Well, um, yes it is. We are a democratic country, and we wanted to give everyone an equal chance.”

“But you get to emigrate even if you don’t win the lottery when your other family members win. Is that fair?”

“Well, you see, Ms. Hollister, it would be a real tragedy to break apart families. Certainly you can understand that.”

I stop myself. There is nothing to gain here. I could get into an argument over how I was not able to marry my beloved partner of nearly a decade, how the ignorance of a bunch of zealots has me sitting in this very chair praying for my life, how even when marriage was made legal a bunch of selfish pricks looking to game the system destroyed our last chance.

Instead, I reply, “Oh, I understand the tragedy of breaking families apart all too well.”

Thrown a bit by my answer, Sam’s script comes out awkwardly at first, but he quickly recovers and proceeds to tell me that he is required to outline what happens both if you win or lose the lottery. He starts with grief counseling, which is optional but highly recommended. It will be available immediately after this meeting in a convenient room down the hall if I decide I need it. A new law put into place allows euthanasia, but you must first discuss that option with a grief counselor.

He then outlines what to expect if I win. Transportation will be via either boat or plane, and the destination will be a country determined by a second lottery. Immediate family members emigrate together but distant family are not guaranteed that they will be able to settle in the same country.

“Are you ready?” The question comes so suddenly that I am unprepared to reply. “Do you need more time?” Sam asks, sympathy in his voice.

“No. It’s okay. I’m ready.”

I wait for him to open an envelope or to check his screen or something, but he just folds his hands on his desk and speaks. “I’m sorry, Ms. Hollister. You have not been chosen to emigrate.”

I skip the grief counseling. I walk down the hall feeling calm. I’m not sad for myself; I’m sad for Lynn. The moment Sam spoke the words, I knew that my new goal in life was to convince Lynn to leave me behind. She deserves a long life. The world needs her strength, her passion, her optimism, her beauty. Me? I won’t die alone. There are tens of millions of us, and that knowledge is oddly comforting.

As I walk through the compound, the enormity of what I’m facing starts to intrude on my facade of strength. I don’t want to lose Lynn, but I don’t want Lynn to die.

I approach the building with the waiting area doing my best to conceal my emotions. The door opens and she runs up to me. Her face and eyes are red. “How did it go?” she whispers.

“I love you,” I say.

“No. No. No. Goddammit, no!”

“Lynn…” I touch her arm, but she pulls away.

“No! You are not going to die.”

“Lynn…” I reach out, and she falls into my arms. She is sobbing into my shoulder, and I am calm. I am her rock. I will save her.

She pulls away. “You can go in my place.” She stares in my eyes—the intensity I know and love is back—but there is nothing to be done. I just shake my head. She knows it’s not allowed. It’s impossible. She shoves me away and turns toward the car. “I’m not going. I’ll stay with you.” She pulls the keys from her pocket and starts walking.

It’s what I fear the most, her sacrificing her life for no reason. “That’s not going to happen,” I say. “I won’t let you.”

She ignores me and keeps walking to the car. I catch up to her as she gets in. I slide into the passenger seat and put my hand on her hand holding the steering wheel.

“Lynn, please. It makes no sense.”

She turns to me, and all her anger, all her fear, all her desperation is just gone. Her face is glowing. “You know, I’ve been stupid. The asteroid. The lottery. The fucking Star News. All this shit.” She waves her arm. “It’s distracted me from the one thing—the one single thing—that I’ve wanted my whole life. Nothing else matters.”