The Lost Heart

Sam looked at the thumb-sized, heart-shaped crystal as it shimmered and sparkled in the setting sun. It was carefully inserted in a metal inlay from the Age of Miracles. Someone, perhaps her grandfather or great-grandfather attached a leather thong so she could keep it around her neck. The crystal was incredibly tough, and the edges of the crystal could easily cut flesh or skin a pelt off a rabbit, such as the one caught in her snare. It was a hidden treasure that had been in her family for generations with the instruction to keep it hidden and keep it safe. Her father normally kept it buried in a secret spot.

Sam was more practical than most. It was a good knife, and any advantage that can be squeezed out was one to take advantage of. As she looked at the crystal, she had thoughts of her grandfather’s stories when he was a boy. His claims that people flew in the sky using giant hollow metal tubes or crossed wide areas of land in hours rather than days or weeks. They could cast their voices across oceans and be heard on the other side. Sick people could get medicine and care that could allow them to live long, peaceful lives. Food was abundantly available. As he lay dying, he claimed that in the right hands the crystal could change everything. . .

It was nonsense. If that fantasy world existed, it was far removed from her day-to-day concerns as her growling stomach reminded her. She continued to skin the rabbit.

At thirteen summers, Sam was thin as a whip and twice as quick, wearing layers of animal hides and dirt to protect her skin from the elements. Lean due to the struggles of getting adequate nutrition, Sam was born into a world with far too little compassion and kindness. She carried the lessons it taught her a little too well, and it showed in her observations of the world around her. There was no joy in her gaze, no wonder. This was the stare of a soldier after a thousand nights in a strange land, always vigilant for the next threat. Part of her mind was cataloguing for new threats or opportunities while mechanically skinning the captured hare.

Once she finished with her task, she tossed the offal in the woods nearby. She wiped off the crystal before placing it on her neck, looking once again at the last bit of sun reflected in its depths.

What nonsense her grandfather told. What mad dreams he shared! Sam shook her head and began to head home. As she walked back, her free hand traced the pattern of ridges and patterns on the crystal that she could feel, but not quite see. Even as a child, tracing the patterns had given her a measure of peace, such as it is.

If she had access to even a low-powered microscope, she would have seen a pattern of zeros and ones on the surface of the crystal. If by some strange coincidence she had the ability to read or translate binary code, she would have been able to read the following message:

“This is an experimental data repository of the United States Library of Congress. This molecular memory storage device is designed to withstand a minimum of a thousand years with minimal degradation under temperatures ranging from 100 Kelvin to 1150 Kelvin, and pressures over 40,000 mbar. Contained within this crystalline lattice is the sum of human knowledge as of 2019. Instructions on how to extract the information contained are as follows…”