Two of Hearts

It’s felt like generations, but I knew it had only been four years since comms were cut. Four years of chaos, confusion, and the downfall of our entire small world. I sighed as I gazed at my surroundings, the place I’d come to call home, or something of the sort. Exposed wires and pipes, their purposes long lost to me, snaked across the concrete walls, all eventually leading back to the bulkhead that served as my home’s entrance.

I stood from my worn cot, stretching in the process. Gear strapped to my chest and waist made noise as it shuffled around, a comforting sound to my ears. Everything I would ever need was on my person, that I was sure of. One item in particular stood out, as It didn’t quite fit along with the rations, tools and weapons resting beside it. A dented and scratched silver locket, somewhat resembling a heart.

The locket was a gift from my brother before I left for the last time, and I kept it as the last thing to remind me of my old life. A life I had long forgotten. With one last check of my supplies, I walked to the bulkhead, grunting with effort as I turned the old wheel keeping it shut. The door clunked as it unlocked, and I reached over my shoulder for my mask. It was a compact gas mask, one that fit only over my mouth and nose. The gadget hissed as it locked over my face, the filters fresh since my last trip outside.

With a great heave, I shoved the door open to reveal a grey wasteland that stretched for miles. Dust was kicked up as I stepped out, examining my surroundings for what must have been the thousandth time. Barely livable air hit me, and my mask worked to filter out what it could. The radiation didn’t reach here, but it was always best to be sure. Besides, the air was barely livable before it all went down anyway.

Taking a deep breath, I looked up towards my true home, stars twinkling in the endless void of space.

Earth had long since gone dark after what we on the colony assumed was nuclear fallout, but I still always checked for some sign of life in desperation that it wasn’t all gone forever. Alas, just as consistently as my checks was the world still dark. We had received our last transmission from H.Q. right before the bombs fell, and it was little more than garbled panic.

I was on the fifth, and final, group of volunteers to reach the main base on the moon. I settled in well enough, adapting to the odd gravity and different air well. The facilities of the base I had called home had long since been abandoned, but some of the old crew still lived there in fear of each other. It was the very reason I moved out to an external bunker that had been used for storage, one reason I was still alive. The non-perishable food I found inside had been feeding me for years, and seemed like it would for many more.

The terraforming of the moon was a colossal undertaking that took almost two decades, making the entire surface survivable without a full suit. I was only around for the beginning of major construction for a more permanent habitation here, around six years. As I pondered my situation for the millionth time, I trekked to the tall comms tower I had frequented over the last four years. I checked in almost once a week in desperate hope that someone would receive the call. I stopped being disappointed after the hundredth try or so.

Reaching the base of the building, I tried to turn the handle for the door. Seeing as the building was built after the first stage of the terraforming, it had a handle that one might see back on Earth, though this one liked to stick.

I shoulder checked the stubborn door, causing it to open with a loud crashing noise. I rubbed my bruised shoulder as I walked to my familiar seat at the far side of the room. The problem about this, though, was the person sitting there.

My hand shot to my right hip, fingers curling around the grip of my ancient 1911 pistol. Even though it was an antique, it still worked a like a charm. I hoped.

“Don’t move!” I shouted across the room, gun now pointed at the stranger. My voice came out a little off through the gas mask, but was still fully comprehensible.

They flinched for what must have been the second time, considering they were already half turned at the noise of the crashing door, and raised their hands.

“Stand up, turn around, and keep your hands up,” I said, trying to keep the quiver from my voice. I didn’t plan on hurting them, but some precautions had to be taken in the world we now lived in.

The person, who I now recognized as the old overseer of the colony, Frederick Cassowary, stood and turned towards me. Recognition did not show in his face, as I was one of the lower crew. I’d never spoken to the aged man face to face even once.

“I don’t want to hurt you. I just want you to leave,” I said, keeping my voice steady.

“Please. I need to try,” Frederick said, looking panicked. “I just want to know if anything’s changed, if we have hope. Isn’t that why you’re here too?”

After some thought, I sighed, lowering the pistol. He was right, after all, and I didn’t see a weapon on him that could beat mine.

“Fine,” I grunted, pushing him aside as he lowered his hands in relief.

I studied the screens still powered by what little solar energy we could get, considering how old the panels were. Each screen dimly showed various statistics about the colony’s communication arrays, and none were very strong to say the least. I picked the strongest channel, as always, and opened up the frequency input menu.

I input the code I had memorized long ago, that of the main communication station back at home base. The code went through with no problem, and nothing came through the speakers imbedded in either side of the screen.

“If I may…” Frederick said, startling me. I had almost forgotten he was there.

“Go ahead. There isn’t much to do but hope and wait,” I said, gesturing towards the screen as I rolled a few feet to the side on my chair.

The old overseer moved the cursor on the screen, clacking in a few keys on the keyboard every once in a while. Eventually, he landed on a new comms window I had never seen before. Scrawled atop it read a single word in bold, ADMIN. I sat up in interest, watching him fumble with a folded piece of paper, and eventually unfolding it to reveal four letters.

“What do you plan to do with that?” I said, gesturing at the code he then entered into the frequency window. “Aren’t codes usually eight numbers?”

“Well yes, and that’s the problem,” He said, scratching his chin. It was a scruffy beard almost entirely white with age, like the rest of him. I only remembered images of his younger, less stressful self, back at the base. His face adorned many motivational posters at the time.

“So your missing half a code, but you still came all this way to try it?” I said, my interest fading with my heartrate, which I only now noticed began to speed up. There’s that hope again, trying to grasp at my mind.

“I-I don’t know what I was expecting,” Frederick said, sighing as his arms and neck went limp. “You have any ideas?”

As I thought, I felt a tingle in my chest, like the start of an itch that doesn’t quite merit the effort of lifting your arm. I looked down, my gaze wandering to the ever-present locket among my other supplies. A question started up in the back of my mind.

I had opened the locket countless times to gaze at the picture inside, one of my family, every facet scoured by my gaze. I had never tried to remove the photo, however, and a nagging in the back of my mind prompted my next actions.

I pried open the latch on the right side of the heart, flipping open the locket. Within was the photo, folded in the corners to allow it to fit snuggly inside. With a gloved index finger and thumb, I pried the photo out gently. I almost dropped it as I set eyes on what lay behind it.

Four letters stared back at me as my covered mouth fell agape.

Shoving the old overseer aside, I punched the code into the console, hitting enter as the eighth digit fell into place. A familiar static came from the speakers, a sign of a forgotten call.

“Where did you get that code?” I barked as I turned towards Frederick.

“I-it was in a locket like that on the ground back at base!” He shouted, staring down the barrel of my 1911.

My mind reeled at the implication. Two halves of a single code, split between two similar lockets? Had my brother known anyone else on the trip the colony, or was this some larger scheme?

All of my wonderings came to a halt as a heart stopping noise broke the tension. A single word, one I would likely never forget. A word from the two speakers beside the screen.

“Hello?”

End.