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.”

“What are you talking about?” She doesn’t sound crazy, but her clarity is frightening because I don’t understand it.

“You said it yourself, Em. You said, ‘I love you.’ You were just told that your life was over. Goodbye citizen, in six months you will be dead. And the only thing that mattered to you was telling me that you loved me.” She takes my hand. “Don’t you get it? I love you, too. With all my heart. With all my

life

. All I want is for us to be together. Fuck this asteroid. Fuck the lottery. Let’s just get married and be happy for whatever time we have left.”

There are tears in her eyes and I know they are tears of joy. How can they be tears of joy?

“It doesn’t matter how long my life is,” she says. “I just want to end it with you as my wife.”

She looks directly into my eyes. And I understand.

• • • •

It took us a long time to get to the Davis Mountains in West Texas, but we made it. It is cold, but the sky is clear. My mom is there. Lynn’s parents won the lottery, and we are happy for them even if they have to miss our wedding. Dad’s girlfriend won the lottery, too, and after a quickie wedding before it was made illegal, dad stopped returning my calls. It’s for the best. Lynn’s friend Max is officiating. He’s a Baptist minister, and I rather think that a lesbian wedding is on his bucket list, but I’m not crass enough to ask him.

Lynn is resplendent in her dress. My mom cries as she walks me up an aisle of wild grass and stone. She hugs Lynn very tight and then kisses me. Lynn and I say our vows; we exchange rings; and Max declares us married. We kiss, and I can’t help but cry.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, and Lynn shakes her head.

“No, no no. Don’t be. I wanted to live the rest of my life with you as my wife.” She touches my cheek with her hand. “Now I will, and I’m so incredibly grateful.”

I pull my wife close. Our cheeks touch, and I am grateful, too.

There is only one other guest at the wedding. The sky is dominated by a streaking ball of fire that looks nothing like the ugly rock I saw on TV. Today it looks glorious, a celestial benediction that couldn’t be more beautiful.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jake Kerr began writing short fiction in 2010 after fifteen years as a music and radio industry columnist and journalist. His first published story, “The Old Equations,” appeared in

Lightspeed

and went on to be named a finalist for the Nebula Award and the Theodore Sturgeon Memorial Award. He has subsequently been published in

Fireside Magazine

,

Escape Pod

, and the

Unidentified Funny Objects

anthology of humorous SF. A graduate of Kenyon College with degrees in English and Psychology, Kerr studied under writer-in-residence Ursula K. Le Guin and Peruvian playwright Alonso Alegria. He lives in Dallas, Texas, with his wife and three daughters.

Tananarive Due — REMOVAL ORDER

Tiny black dots speckled Nayima’s white-socked feet as she shuffled across the threadbare carpet in her grandmother’s living room. Gram’s four cats were gone, but the fleas had stayed behind. Nayima had learned to ignore the itching, but the sight of so many fleas made her sick to her stomach. The flea problem had seemed small compared to Nayima’s daily ever-growing list of responsibilities, but she would not keep her Gram in filth.

“Shit,” Nayima said to the empty living room, the fleas, and the slow, steady whistling of Gram’s sleep-breathing in the next room.

Gray morning light beckoned her. Nayima flung the front door open and sat on the stoop, breathing fast to try to beat the nausea, which felt too much like death. Fledgling panic gnawed the rim of her stomach. She could make out the headline of the bright electric pink flyer Bob the groundskeeper had dutifully posted on the community bulletin board across the green belt from Gram’s house: REPORT TO THE NEAREST HOSPITAL IF… and the litany of symptoms. Stomachache was high on the list, beneath persistent headache and double vision.