Heart Shaped Locket

I inherited nothing from all my family gone, but this beat up and half-broken heart shaped locket.

Not surprising, because I hadn’t counted on anything from them. They cast me out when I was young, at 12 going on 13. Fortunate for me there were plenty of gigs for someone with such a small frame, working along the docks then. It was a gamble to keep my limbs and fingers, but I was quick enough to get through on a dime or two until a hover ship cast me aboard and I got out of this depraved pit, which no one fondly refers to as Megalopoly.

The thing is tattered and bruised with a faded chrome exterior and barely hangs on by a dented ring, to the chain it’s reluctantly bound to. The chain seems of some real value; might be platinum, which could buy me a free pass in a bind if I pawned it to some relic metal collector. Or save me from loosing a hand next time I get lifted for pawing fruits or a snackpod in the market.

Mystery it is— where it came from, and why I have it. I don’t recall stories about it, nor do I know who in the family would entertain such a trinket. I keep it round my neck flat against my chest alongside a neopass and my lucky whistle.

For years since, I’ve mostly spent time in orbit. The first craft that picked me up had a crew of just three and me, set-on asteroid mining while hovering in near outer earth. Plenty of space junk, but not many humans round here. Get it: around ... here?

Three years I cooked and cleaned and was sent out for the life threatening missions as the teams go-fer, with the pilot, mechanic and engineer comfortably tucked away indoors onboard. I never thought I’d be brave enough for such work, but promised I would to leave my birthplace and it was my first chance outta there. I never thought it’d be from a bird’s eye view; but I’ve been set on seeing the world since I cast eyes on the sky.

Sure am seeing a lot of it now; although I’m far too far away to feel and smell and taste it.

Three years is a lot of dead space to think about how dull my upbringing was. It was a delight to return to natural gravity and begin seeing the world up-close when I came back down again. The ocean bound tankers are where I landed next. Three years gone on the hovercraft and hardly earned more than the expenses for gear, oxygen and the transport up and down to take the job at all. Ocean bound tankers pay better but move slower and you’re committed for years at a time.

Seven years of sea travel took me to many of the big oceans I gandered at from near outer space. The life of a sploranaut works for me! I gained much and lost plenty on those barges. But this trinket stays bound, barely clasping to its ring around my neck.

Today something happened for the first time. It opened. Never before had I paid it close attention, but here (starboard side) pulling into Trinidad I’ve seen a petite little nub and gave it a push. The pressure clicked the mangled locket opened.

Sun shining, with the smell of seaweed on my tongue and it looks empty... At first. No picture or encryption, but ... when shifting it in my hand from side to side something’s revealed. Sapphire letters reflect when I shift it back and fourth. Sapphire letters against the dark chrome, which spells out words or a phrase I don’t recognize. It’s not Sanskrit or English, or Jarva. The letters look picturesque, but not like Egyptian calligraphy. More like Asian calligraphy, but it isn’t a language I’m familiar with and is more round and organic in shape.

As they glimmer it appears to almost leap towards me off the locket. It isn’t glowing, it couldn’t be ... but something sure is reflecting a passage and I’d sure like to know what it says.

A horn bellows. “Alright Kit, pack out!” Barks Barlow- a grotesque fellow with grand fat stature. He smells of curdled cheese and kitchen gristle and I’ve never seen him without beard stubble. That was my cue to climb the rafters to drop the smaller boats bobbling against the side of the titanic barge, suspended like buoys on a smaller boat. Hundreds of bodies began piling out of the belly of the barges and into the rows of small boats I set free from their pulleys, by traversing the grids up in the mast. I’m light and nimble surfing from spar to spar on the ropes in setting them loose; and why I’m most valuable to the barbarous crew. I’m quick, strong, and small even full grown.

Trinidad; A place I’ve never been before. This is what I live for.

Part Two

After the crews piled out and I grabbed my sack, I first made my way off the ramp and right into the Global Cadet Emporium. There’s at least one in every port I’ve been to. Global Cadets are like Earth Guardians; I hear they’re fanatics against the mining jobs, like the ones which have sustained me-- performed on asteroids and under earth. Always harking-on about doomsday and man throwing the planet out of something called “equilibrium.” Equilibrium is a real hot-word on all the tablets and these ‘cadets of the world’ seem to be in every nook and cranny with underground papers and posted propaganda pleaing for others to join their missions to put it back. One thing I sure know about these spots, is that they’re suckers for rare objects, notoriously informative, have honor in telling the truth (if you can make sense of it), and usually pretty knowledgeable of ancient relics.

With a squeak, jiggle, jingle, and a slam the entry way closes behind me. I feel three feet smaller, making my way through the shelves and antique junk piled high (seeming to hail from all corners of the planet). Jars with liquids and rare animals cast in startling positions with stares of surprise fill the place nearby to mechanical things I don’t recognize. Dead dried plants and herbs hang and sway in the dead heat and tactical tools are covered in dust except few fingerprints behind chest-level display cases. Many of the objects scattered about the place have functions unknown to me.

“Who d-ear? What ado fer you?” Beckons out loud, but I can’t tell where it’s coming from. Quite suddenly a fella who must be almost 7 feet tall bends down from the mass of objects in a dark corner, covered in gadgets and suspended boggles from his coat— like a rockhound emerging from the mines covered in the material he’s hunting, in camouflage from pennygoers. He has a very large spectacle squiged in his eye that enlarges his already especially large dark iris, as it peers closely at me from head to toe. His shoulders shift from side to side as the sound of heavy boots make a thud and a scarf and a thud and a scccaarfff, while making his way around the display case towards where I stand. The room smells of dust and gunpowder, but why I have no idea- most guns are atomiculators and don’t use bullets. I only know of gunpowder from traveling shows, which use them for theatre; smoke and mirrors.

Suddenly I feel as though I’m in the wrong place and make a swift turn to exit and scuttle out of there, but I don’t make it. A wooden hook yoinks on the scruff of my shirt, jerking me a foot back as I land on my arse before making it out the door.

“See… young one,” he slowly speaks, “I’zd askeded a yous a qestian.” “You took my time, now give me yers.”

“Great apologies mister sir. I was only curious boss man. I came in to take a peak, and I done took one. I’m back off to match with my crew now, I am.” I respond quickly.

Two fat strong hands like eagle claws make their way clumsily to each of his hips, as he rolls them from side to side and begins to speak again:

“ Well around here peaking ain’t free.” “You see, something brought you in here, and somethin’s goan’ a leave with ya. Even if it’s a story from old Sparta here.” “Plenty of people come, but no on’ leaves without gaining somethin on the way out.”

Oh boy, I really didn’t want to spend time engaging. “Well you see sir, I have a something I’d like to know more about.” “I don’t know if I’m in the right place, but you cadets are supposed to know a lot about many little things. Like this little one right here.”

Holding it outright doesn’t catch much of his attention. But the moment my knobby hand reaches to my other and to press on the secret nubbin, his eyes begin to luster as much as the inscription inside as it pops open and shones as it does.

“Myyyyyy wweeeeerd little one.” He exclaimed. “Know not, what you have right there.”

Huh, I thought? All these years of towing this junk around and maybe this guy will have more than a fish story for me, I think to myself.

“Myy werd… that language is something of a gander, it is. That language is something rare, and rare round the earth indeed. Because it isn’t Of this earth, it ain't. You don’t need old Sparta here to tell you about that piece. You’re going to need an inter-galactic translation.” He says to me.

“What you have there, you do, are coordinates to a place far afar from here. Far afar from earth at all. Where it shows to go, I don’t know. But sure hope you find someone who might.

Global cadet?! More like space cadet?! What does this guy think I’m going to fork over for this poppycock? Truthsayers? Should I believe this?

And before my nerves get the best of me, he’s snatching the locket right outta my clutch (moving more quickly than it appears his large frame can) and suspends it into what had previously appeared to be of solid clear crystal or glass. The locket sinks into the near-clear globe until it’s completely engulfed, shining brighter and brighter from its center. The characters project and dance along the walls and ceiling and junk around us; like the sphere’s amplifying the inscription as if it is a light map, or 3 dimensional globe.

“This child, is what few know as birth coordinates of an inter-stellar being.” Someone came to this rock, our rock, earth… from this place right here far afar far away…. Secret that “otherbeings” live here on earth it is; and must be someone in your family to pass the secret and heirloom to you, it must. Unless you stole it little bugger, which you might have.”

His eyes are still glistening like the sapphire lettering as he lusts over the object. Or perhaps it is the mystery he lusts over. “Never have I seen one with my own eyes I haven’t, but now I know they’s do exists.” “And I’m afraid you, little one, have a long long way to go, to find out why this came to be around your scrawny neck.”

“Now take it and get out of here, because I can’t help you any more, and ol Sparta likes it, so you best be gone.” And with that he scooted me out of his emporium of fascinating and mostly odd objects.

It seems, I thought, my sense of adventure is about to take me further than I ever dreamed. It seems my upbringing may not have been so dull afterall.