The Locket

He picked up the glass and took a sip grimacing slightly at the taste. In his hand sat a heart-shaped locket, the only clue to the past life he could not remember. He pressed the gem in the center and the recording stored inside played in front of him. A beautiful woman with long dark hair smiled up at him, her carefree face, and bright blue eyes alight with it. A blond-haired child, a girl he thought barely more than a year or two, toddled around giggling. The image of the child turned and faced him, her bright blue eyes full of life, "I yuh you, dada" she giggled as she ran unsteadily back to the woman who scooped her up and held her in her lap. "We love you,” the woman said, “come home to us.” Though her smile never dimmed, there was sadness that accompanied her plea. Then the image faded and disappeared waiting until he chose to play it again. A wave of agony ran through him. He had no memory of the woman or child, but deep inside he knew he was the one for whom the message had been left.

"Was that your family?"

He jerked his head up and looked into the green eyes of the woman who had been on the other side of the room from him. She sat on the bar stool next to him. He closed his hand over the locket.

"That's not your concern," he replied hoping the coldness in his voice would discourage her from saying more and hide the unshed tears he felt forming a moment ago. He turned back to his drink ignoring her. She sat facing him and he could see out of the corner of his eye, a half smirk still on her face.

"My my," she said amused, "it seems your manners still need a little time to thaw out. How long has it been since you were awakened?"

"What business is it of yours?"

"Small talk is how one person gets to know another, for instance, let me start by introducing myself."

"I'm not interested"

"Then you won't give me your name either?"

"No."

"Pity, tall dark and handsome, is such a mouthful." She reached up and gently ran her fingers over the scar on the side of his face. Her pale hand felt strangely cool against his face. "This is where they attached the monitor to you while you slept, isn't it?"

Her voice held a note of compassion in it. But how could she know or understand what it meant to be removed from life so completely?

"What do you know about it?" He replied harshly, perhaps more so than he had meant to be.

"I know what it's like to lose the ones you love, to only see them in your memories," she said.

"Then you know nothing. When we awaken, we do not have memories," his voice was harsh, "the process causes them to be lost."

"I'm sorry." She said, the smirk faded away, replaced by a look of regret at the carelessness of her words.

"Why be sorry? How can I miss something I don't even remember having?" He said with as emotionless a voice as could manage.

"Now who knows nothing." She said it sympathetically, but it still hit deep part inside him. He chose not to answer.

The bartender returned with two plates of food, placing one in front of him, and after small hesitation and a slight nod from the woman the other in front of her. The bartender brought the woman a long-stemmed glass and filled it halfway from one of the bottles behind the bar and moved away again. The special he had ordered turned out to be lumps of what might have been meat in a brownish gravy over noodles. A quick taste told him the meat was overcooked and the gravy oversalted, but it was still edible. He suspected the extra salt encouraged the few patrons here to buy more than one round of drinks, lest they die of thirst. He raised an eyebrow at the delicate glass, out of place compared to the large thick ones he and the other patrons were drinking from.

"There must be other places you could go for a better-quality drink," he said.

She laughed, "you really are new to this place. This is the best it gets here in this wasteland. The farther from the station you go the worse it gets."

"You seem out of place here."

"So do you, soldier," she emphasized that last title.

"I'm not a soldier anymore"

"Deserter? No there'd be a notice out for you if you were." She appraised him for a moment taking a few delicate bites as she did, glancing over his armor. Her eyes lingered on the shoulder crest. "A freeman insignia," she said after a moment. "So, you bought your way out,"

He grunted, still eating, the only answer he felt obligated to give.

"Was your freedom expensive?” She asked.

"Do you know how they keep us?" Now he turned to face her fully an edge of anger in his voice.

"Tell me." She said.

"When they wake you, the first thing they tell you is that you're alone. Everyone you knew is gone. You have no memory, so this does not mean anything. It is an unfortunate side effect, but I suspect it is done on purpose to keep us from questioning them. Next your sleep incurred a debt and since there is no one who could pay it, that debt was sold to one of the corporations looking to increase its labor force and since you would have been dead otherwise, you have no rights. Sleepers," he emphasized the derogatory term, "aren't real people until their cryo debt is paid." He forced the anger that broiled up, back down. She did not say anything, so he continued.

"After a corporation takes possession of you, they give you two options. Work the debt off as part of their labor force or fight for them in capturing resources and assets."

"Do most choose to work?" She asked, sipping from her glass.

He smiled bitterly, "The pay is barely enough to cover the room and board they charge and the interest your debt is accruing, what little extra you may have, goes to drinking at the corporation establishments. Some play games of chance hoping to score big and maybe win freedom with a large pay day, but the corporation is the House, and the House always wins. Most will die before they have even paid half their debt back."

"That sounds hopeless" she said quietly, the smile had faded again, and her large green eyes looked softly at him. "What of those who choose to fight?"

"In many ways, they have it worse," he said, “war is not like the histories of the old world. Nations no longer war with one another, only the corporations, and therefore anything that could threaten profits is highly discouraged. Projectile weapons are banned outright. Killing your opponent would mean ending an investment," he answered her unspoken question. "Instead, we're given these," he patted the weapon holstered at his side. "They're for incapacitation only. Once an enemy is disabled his insignia can be removed, at that point the enemy is now a prisoner of war and conveyed to the corporation headquarters, where the corporations can parade them around for a bit before arranging a trade with the ownership company. The more valuable a POW, the better leverage a corporation has in trading him or her back. And of course, that trade will add to the soldier's remaining debt. The soldier who captures the insignia is granted a bonus for each one, the value determined by the value of the enemy captured." He looked to see if she was following his explanation and realized she was the first person he had spoken to who was not part of the endless cycle of fighting and capturing to which he had been subject.

She frowned slightly for a moment, "If they don't want you killing and ruining their investment and trading, why give you the sword you carry?"

"The rules said we weren't allowed to kill. The vibration saber cuts cleanly through limbs, and prosthetics are cheap to replace them. Any damage that can be repaired is acceptable. Some of the more vicious managers even encourage it." He laughed bitterly, "since no one dies, except rarely, the higher ups and board members pat themselves on the back and congratulate themselves on ending 'real war' and how civilized the conflict is now."

"But you got out" she said, bringing his attention back to her.

"I got enough sigs," he said, "enough highly ranked ones to buy my freedom. I had to be careful. If I got too close to paying my debt, I would be removed from the battlefield, for R&R they say. The corporation wanted to make sure all our needs were taking care of. Of course, all those needs added to your debt, and once they had a comfortable balance again, it was back to the front lines. I waited until I had enough hidden away. The collection managers came around every week or so to collect captured sigs and distribute the bonuses. An enemy soldier cannot be traded back without his sig. It took years but I managed to turn in a few to not raise suspicions and save the rest. The manager I was assigned to was furious. A soldier gaining freedom is worse than losing one to accidental death or desertion. The corporation had no choice in the matter. If they refused to honor a cleared debt, the ramifications would be dire. Soldiers would refuse to fight, precious assets and resources would be lost, profits would plummet, and it would open the corporation to a possible legal inquiry which is the last thing any of them want. The rules are meticulously enforced. Bonuses are paid in full upon return of a sig, no questions asked."

"Why not desert then?"

"Anyone deserting is immediately executed by decapitation. No trial, or second chances. Any soldier without a sig, not in the custody of the enemy is assumed to be a deserter and executed.”

She had paled slightly at this last part.

"So, what will you do now?" She asked.

"I don't know, probably see if there's a room here for the night and decide in the morning. I suppose I'll need to find employment of some kind.”

"What passes for the local government here might be able to point you in the right direction." She said, "that usually where most people go to conduct business here as well, usually they'll hire there too. Though to be honest you don't look like a wasteland farmer type." She paused, "I'd suggest selling anything you don't need but I doubt you have much of value. Even that locket wouldn't get you all that much without the other half."

He froze, the glass halfway to his mouth. He turned toward her quickly almost knocking her glass over.

"The other what?" He demanded.

She leaned away momentarily taken aback by his intense gaze. "The other locket that goes with it. the other half. That is why it is called a star-crossed locket. Didn't you know that?"

He shook his head mutely.

"Two hearts separated by distance each with their own recording." She went on, "but when you put them together, they play a third one, something extra special the bearers wanted to remember. They cannot be erased and reset either, unless connected together. That's why you wouldn't get much for it without the other half." She looked at him, but all he could think about was somewhere out there might be an answer to his agony. Then reality returned and he despaired at the futility of finding the other one.

"It would be impossible," he said at last, and the realization left him numb.