Lynn looks over and squeezes my leg. “We have plenty of time.” I nod but cheer quietly when a military truck from behind us splits the air with its loud siren. The bucketlisters scatter, and the road clears.

The Expatriation Office is in a heavily fortified compound. There are concrete barriers on the sidewalk. Thick walls and razor wire. Soldiers are everywhere with machine guns. We park in a large, mostly empty, lot outside the walls. “I love you,” I whisper.

Lynn smiles and wipes my tears with her thumbs, her hands cupping my face. “I know.” She kisses me. “I love you, too.”

Only Lynn is allowed in, so she heads to the gate while I walk to a nearby building where friends and family are allowed to wait. It’s a sterile storefront with lots of plate glass and uncomfortable plastic chairs. It looks like the waiting room at the DMV. The room is about half full, but no one talks to anybody else. I take a seat and stare at the walls.

Individuals make the long walk from the walled compound to the waiting area, and the near constant flow of hopelessness is overwhelming. One person after another approaches, shakes his or her head, and then breaks down, soon joined by others’ screams, wails, and tears. No one commits suicide while I watch, but the dead eyes are almost as bad.

A few people walk in with good news, but they are subdued, their happiness tempered out of respect for the walking dead around them. Still, the hushed cries and tears are of happiness, and it is oddly uplifting. As a young man walks in and nods his head, a woman rushes over and throws herself in his arms. I am genuinely happy for them and wonder where they will settle. London? Tokyo? Madrid? Moscow? It doesn’t matter. They walk out with a future.

And there is Lynn. I cannot read her face. Did she win? Is she safe? She sees me through the window, and gives a half wave from her waist. I run out to her, and we meet on the sidewalk. I look in her eyes, and she nods her head.

She hugs me, and I cry.

A couple in another car pull in as we walk across the parking lot, Lynn’s hand in mine. I catch a glimpse of their faces but turn away. Lynn is waiting for me, and I close my door on the pain and uncertainty outside.

I don’t remember the trip home. I don’t remember much at all. I just hold Lynn in my arms, afraid to let her go, afraid that maybe it isn’t real.

I am filled with more happiness than I knew was possible as the love of my life will be safe and this wonderful amazing woman who has filled my life with such joy will not have her light go out due to the cruelty of the heavens or fate or whatever has decreed that life is now nothing more than a lottery she will live she will live she will live.

• • • •

A few days later, Lynn comes home at lunchtime, which surprises me because she is still on the Star News beat. I don’t know which story she is covering, but I assume it’s something amusing; the stories of riots, murders, rapes, and suicides are unpopular, and Europe appears addicted to stories of bucketlisters doing crazy things, so Lynn has been covering every bucket list item imaginable and enjoying every minute of it.

“Hey, what’s up? Slow news day?” I smile. There is no longer such a thing as a slow news day.

“I quit.”

I put my book down and stand up. “What? Why?”

“The government has commandeered all of Star News’ North American transportation to maximize expatriation efforts.”

I collapse back on the couch. “Oh.” There goes any hope of the company getting us out.

“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.”