Entered in the Alien Bride Lottery - Margo Bond Collins Page 0,1

everyone else in the bar, I stared wide-eyed as Vos Klavoii began his usual pre-drawing patter, starting with recapping the treaty that started it all.

“For the last half-century of your Earth years, the Khanavai have protected your planet from the ravages of the Alveron Horde. And all we ask in return is that you send unmarried females for our warriors. That’s right, brides for the soldiers who keep you safe and secure in your home.”

As he spoke, Vos spun the barrel of an old-fashioned wire raffle-ticket drum, as if he were really going to draw a name out. The enormous screen behind him showed a giant image of the lottery’s logo—a hot-pink oval with THE ALIEN BRIDE LOTTERY on it in black—superimposed on a turquoise screen. The colors were garish, like everything about the lottery. Possibly like everything about the Khanavai, given the rainbow hues of their skin coloring.

“This Bride Treaty keeps humanity safe. And the women who are joined with our warriors live happily ever after,” Vos continued.

“Yeah, right,” Jas muttered. “Nothing like leaving behind everyone and everything she ever cared about to make a girl happy.”

I glanced at her and nodded in agreement, but quickly turned my attention back to the television. The Alien Bride Program made for gripping TV, at least. Like most of humanity, I’d be glued to a set all the way through the Bride Games, no matter how long they took.

“You’re in the drawing now, right?” David spoke quietly beside me. I hadn’t even seen him headed toward me—that’s how engrossing the lottery was.

I fought not to jump, instead turning to look at him as I waved a hand airily. “Yeah, but everyone knows you never get chosen your first year.”

“Good,” he whispered, slipping an arm around my waist and resting his hand on my hip. “I’d miss you.”

My grin at that couldn’t be contained. I caught a glimpse of Jas’s thumbs-up out of the corner of my eye. Ignoring her, I leaned into David.

“It’s time for our first drawing,” Vos announced, stopping the machine and pulling out a ticket with a showman’s flourish. I assumed the tickets were epaper, blank until drawn and then electronically imprinted with the new bride’s name at the last moment.

“Angelica Evatt,” Vos announced. A picture of the alien bride-to-be flashed up on the screen behind him, along with her basic stats—date of birth, city of residence, and the last six digits of her Lottery ID number, just to be sure. Not that it mattered. She had a Khanavai ID chip implanted behind her right ear, just like the rest of us, acting as a universal translator, but also allowing the aliens to keep tabs on every human on the planet. Even if she tried to run, they’d find her.

“Congratulations, Angelica!” Vos exclaimed cheerfully.

David leaned even closer, putting his lips against my ear. A shiver rolled up my spine as he whispered, “This is going to take forever. Let’s get out of here and go celebrate your birthday properly.”

“Definitely.” I hopped off the stool and gathered my purse, giving a little wave to Jas to let her know I was going. My roommate waggled her eyebrows at me, mouthing “Have fun” as I fell into step next to David.

My heartbeat thundered in my chest. I couldn’t believe this was happening. After four years of lusting after the guy, we were finally hooking up. “I’m going home with David Stephens” echoed over and over in my mind like a drumbeat, and I couldn’t quit grinning.

We were almost to the door when Vos sang out, “And our second lottery winner is Natalie Ferguson.”

Wait. That’s me.

My brain stuttered to a stop and I stumbled, then quit walking, still staring at the exit.

So close to escape.

Running was useless.

It had to be a different Natalie Ferguson. My name wasn’t totally unique. That’s why they gave us Lottery IDs. And showed pictures on the screen. My stomach churned. Then a whisper went up around me.

Finally, I forced myself to turn around.

Everyone in the bar was staring at me.

Fuck.

I dragged my eyes up to the screen.

And there it was. My driver’s license picture staring back at me. My mouth dried, and I opened it to say something. Anything. To protest that there was no way that could be me, that no one got their name drawn the first time they were entered. I didn’t have any parking tickets or anything. One single entry.

That’s all it had taken.

But before I could say anything, a cone of light