Remember this Moment
Sera wiped down the bar counter of The Rusty Cog for the third time that hour, her cloth catching on the brass inlays that formed intricate gear patterns across its surface. The repetitive motion helped quiet her mind, even as the tavern’s usual cacophony of laughter and deal-making swirled around her. She glanced at the ancient mechanical clock above the spirits shelf—two hours until her shift ended. Two hours until she needed to rush home.
“The usual, Sera,” called out Porter, one of the regular scrappers who’d been coming to the tavern since before she could walk. She forced a smile and reached for his favorite tin mug, the one with the dented rim that he insisted made the cheap whiskey taste better.
“How’s your mother?” he asked, his voice softening. Sera’s hand trembled slightly as she poured the amber liquid.
“She has good days and bad days,” she replied, the practiced response falling from her lips easily. Today had been a bad day. This morning, her mother had been frantically looking for her medical tablet to check on patients who hadn’t existed for three decades, calling out for the AI assistant to bring her the morning rounds schedule.
The clock ticked on as Sera served drinks, broke up a minor dispute between two merchants, and kept the gears of The Rusty Cog turning smoothly. Every few minutes, her eyes would drift to that clock, counting down the moments until Rose, the night shift barmaid, would arrive.
“You should take some time for yourself, girl,” Porter said later, as she cleared away his empty mug. “I know some good folks who could help watch over her.”
Sera shook her head. “She doesn’t do well with strangers anymore. Last time…” She trailed off, remembering how her mother had become convinced that the kind neighbor who’d offered to sit with her was actually a patient from the old world, one who had died during the Shift.
When Rose finally arrived, Sera barely took time to hand over her apron before hurrying through Steelwatch’s winding streets. The setting sun painted the Great Cog’s massive wall in shades of rust and gold, casting long shadows across her path. She ducked through familiar shortcuts, past the scrapyard where children still played among the day’s new salvage, and finally reached the modest apartment she shared with her mother.
She found her sitting in her favorite chair by the window, watching the airships dock with a confused expression. “Those flying machines,” her mother said, shaking her head. “Nothing like the medical transport drones we used to have. Do you remember them, dear? They could reach a patient anywhere in the city in under three minutes. Dr. Roberts and I once saved a man’s life because of how quickly they brought him to us.”
Sera swallowed hard. “That was before the Shift, Mother. Before everything changed.”
Her mother turned to her, confusion clouding her eyes. “The Shift? No, no, I have a shift starting at eight. Night rotation in the trauma ward. The autonomous surgical unit needs calibration, and the new interns need supervision.” She started to stand. “Have you seen my smartcard? I can’t access the ward without it.”
Sera’s chest tightened, but she kept her voice steady. “I am Sera, Mother. Your daughter. You’re home now. You retired years ago.”
“Oh.” Her mother’s face fell, then brightened again. “Of course, of course. But you look just like my colleague Rebecca. She works in pediatrics, you know. Such a gifted surgeon, she could operate the cobot arms like no one else.”
As she prepared their simple meal, Sera listened to her mother talk about the advanced hospitals of the old world—the medical miracles, the AI diagnostics, the regeneration chambers that could heal most wounds. Each mistaken memory was a glimpse into a world Sera had never known, one of incredible technological healing that had been lost in the Shift all those years ago.
Later that night, after settling her mother into bed, Sera sat at their small kitchen table and pulled out the worn leather notebook her mother had given her on her sixteenth birthday. Inside were detailed notes about patient care, old-world remedies translated into what was possible now, accompanied by precise instructions in her elegant handwriting. Sera had been adding her own notes lately—not about medicine, but about her mother. What triggered the confusion, what brought moments of clarity, which memories seemed to stay while others slipped away.
She turned to a fresh page and began to write about today. The words blurred as tears finally fell, dropping onto the paper like desert rain. She wiped them away quickly, smudging the ink.
A soft sound made her look up. Her mother stood in the bedroom doorway, looking more lucid than she had all day.
“My sweet girl,” she said, her voice clear and present. “You shouldn’t have to carry this weight alone.”
Sera stood so quickly her chair scraped against the floor. “Mother? Do you—”
“I know it’s been hard,” her mother interrupted, crossing the room to cup Sera’s face in her weathered hands. “I can’t always find my way through the fog, between what was and what is now. But I know what you sacrifice. You are so much stronger than I ever was.”
Sera leaned into her mother’s touch, cherishing this moment of clarity while it lasted. “I learned from the best,” she whispered.
Her mother smiled—that familiar, proud smile that had once greeted every small triumph of Sera’s childhood. “My brilliant girl. Even when I forget everything else, I never forget how much I love you.”
They stood there in the quiet kitchen, holding each other as the ever-present hum of Steelwatch’s machines filtered through the walls. Sera knew that tomorrow might bring another bad day, another instance of her mother looking for medical equipment that no longer existed or calling out for long-dead colleagues. But for now, in this precious moment, the world—both old and new—felt complete.
When her mother finally returned to bed, Sera added one more note to her journal: “Remember this moment. Remember her smile. Remember that love persists even when memories fade.”
The next morning, she would return to The Rusty Cog, serve drinks to dusty travelers, and count the hours until she could rush home again. But she would carry this moment with her, preserved like the precious medical knowledge her mother had managed to save from the old world, a reminder that some things survive even the greatest of changes.
