The Last Fisherman of the Drowned Word

Bab 3 : The First Memory Tax

Chapter 3: The First Memory Tax

The ship groaned, the sound of metal protesting against the sudden shift in buoyancy. Mirella didn’t let go of the helm until the vessel finally settled into a flat, rhythmic roll. She stood there for a long moment, chest heaving, staring at the churning mess of foam that still hissed against the hull.

"You really did that," she breathed, her voice trembling just enough to reveal the terror she’d been suppressing. "You really felt that coming."

Caio slid down the side of the deckhouse, his knees hitting the wood with a dull thud. He felt hollowed out, a strange, cooling sensation radiating from the base of his skull where the System had spiked his adrenaline. "I told you. I just... I had a hunch. A really strong one."

Mirella stepped away from the wheel, her boots clattering across the wet boards. She approached him, her gaze intense, searching his face as if looking for a seam or a stitch. "A hunch? You were staring at empty water, kid. The scanners were dead quiet. People out here don’t have 'hunches' that save ships from rogue waves. They have luck, and usually, that runs out within the first hour."

Caio looked up, forcing a weak smile. "Maybe my luck is just different."

"Maybe," she countered, crossing her arms. She looked older now, the adrenaline fading to reveal the deep-set lines of exhaustion around her eyes. "Or maybe you’re someone I should be worried about. You got a name for that trick?"

"I don't have a name for anything," Caio said, shaking his head. He tried to think of his father’s voice, a comfort in the dark, but the memory was like a mist blowing off the water. "I just want to get to wherever it is you’re going. Is there a destination, or are we just running from the next wave?"

Mirella let out a dry, rattling laugh. "Destination? This isn't a cruise, Caio. We’re headed for the 'Shallows.' It’s a bit of a misnomer, really, but it’s where the wreckage settles. There’s a community there. Scrappers, traders, people who still want to pretend the world is more than a wet grave."

"People?" Caio felt a strange spark of relief. "Actual people? Like, living in houses?"

"In pods. On platforms. It’s not much, but they have fresh water and a way to patch holes in a hull that doesn't involve duct tape and prayer." She looked him over, her eyes lingering on his salt-crusted clothes. "You’re not from around here, are you?"

"I’m from..." Caio stopped. He reached for a memory—the smell of his mother’s perfume, the sound of her humming in the kitchen, the way she used to tuck her hair behind her ear. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to picture her face, but there was only a pale, featureless blur where her smile should have been.

His heart skipped a beat, a cold spike of panic piercing his chest. "I’m from... somewhere else."

Mirella tilted her head. "That's vague. You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

"I'm fine," he snapped, his voice sounding sharper than he intended. He rubbed his temples. "Just the shock. It's hitting me, I think."

"Yeah, well, shock is a luxury. We’ve got a leak in the engine room from that last impact. If you’re not too busy having an existential crisis, I could use a hand with the pump."

Caio stood up, his legs feeling like jelly. "Right. The pump. How does it work?"

"Same way everything else works here. You move your body, you sweat, and if you're lucky, the machine keeps running long enough for you to get home." She gestured toward a hatch in the floorboards. "Down there. Watch the ladder. It’s rusted through on the third rung."

He climbed down into the belly of the ship. The air down here was thick with the smell of diesel and rotting kelp. The rhythmic thwack-hiss of the pump was the only sound.

"Njord?" Caio whispered, looking into the shadows. "Are you still there?"

"I’m always here, Caio," the voice echoed, crisp and detached. "Directly linked to your neural pathways, remember? Hard to go anywhere when you’re a line of code in someone’s brain."

"Something’s wrong," Caio hissed, leaning against a warm pipe. "My head. My memories. I can’t... I can’t see my mother’s face. It’s like it’s been scrubbed out."

"A side effect of the neural override," Njord replied, his tone devoid of empathy. "The adrenaline boost required to process environmental hazards at that scale is expensive. It draws energy from your cognitive storage. You spend the power to save your life, you pay with a few files from your past."

Caio felt his breath hitch. "You’re telling me I traded my mother’s face for a survival boost?"

"I told you the system was a double-edged sword," Njord said. "Survival is binary. You either persist, or you become part of the geological record. You chose to persist."

"I didn't choose anything! You did this!"

"I suggested a course of action. You provided the desperate urge to not die. We’re a team, remember?"

Caio slammed his fist against the vibrating hull. "We’re not a team. You’re a parasite."

"A parasite that just kept you from being crushed by ten thousand tons of water," Njord corrected. "Maybe show a little gratitude? Or at least focus on the task. The woman upstairs is waiting for you to fix the leak."

Caio let out a shaky breath, pressing his hands against his face. "I just wanted to remember."

"Memory is overrated when you’re drowning," Njord said. "Keep moving. The hull integrity is dropping."

He grabbed a heavy wrench from the floor, his hands trembling. He found the source of the leak—a pinhole spray of seawater hitting a fuse box—and braced himself against the wall.

Mirella called down from the hatch, her voice muffled by the floorboards. "You finding it, kid? You’re awfully quiet down there."

"I found it!" Caio shouted back, his voice strained. "Just... just needs a bit of tightening!"

"Don't kill yourself, just hold it shut!"

Caio wrapped a piece of thick rubber around the pipe and leaned into the tension, his muscles burning. As he worked, his hand brushed against his outer pocket. There was a hard, metal lump in there he hadn't noticed before. He fished it out with his free hand.

It was a locket. Small, silver, and covered in a fine layer of gray grime. He pried it open with a fingernail.

Inside was a photo—a tiny, water-damaged picture of a woman with kind eyes and a messy bun. She was smiling, holding a young boy on a beach that looked impossibly bright and golden.

Caio stared at it, his thumb hovering over the woman’s face. He knew who the boy was. He knew the locket was his. But the woman? She was a stranger. A beautiful, haunting stranger.

"What are you looking at?"

Caio jumped, nearly dropping the wrench. Mirella was standing on the ladder, her silhouette framed by the dim light from the deck.

"Nothing," Caio said, snapping the locket shut and shoving it back into his pocket. "Just... some scrap I found in my pocket. Must have been there when I grabbed the rail."

Mirella climbed the rest of the way down, her boots hitting the floor with a heavy thud. She eyed him suspiciously, her gaze flicking to the pocket where he’d stashed the locket.

"You’re a weird one, Caio. You show up out of the blue, pull a stunt that should’ve killed you, and now you’re hiding junk like it’s a treasure map."

"It's not a treasure map," Caio said, his voice quiet. He turned back to the leak, tightening the clamp with renewed intensity. "It's just... I think I’m losing things, Mirella. I think I’m losing a lot of things."

Mirella softened, just a little. She stepped closer, putting a hand on his shoulder. It was a heavy, calloused hand, grounding him. "We all lose things out here, kid. I lost my brother in a storm three years ago. I lost my house, my city, and my goddamn mind about twice a month. You want to survive? You stop looking backward. The water doesn't care what you remember. It only cares if you can still paddle."

Caio nodded, though the ache in his chest remained. "I’ll try."

"Good," she said, pulling back. "Now, help me with this pressure valve. We’ve got a long way to go before we reach the Shallows, and I’d prefer not to be doing repairs while we're being hunted."

"Hunted?" Caio asked, his blood running cold.

"The things that stay in the deep don't just eat," she said, turning toward the stairs. "Sometimes, they remember. And they don't like it when something manages to slip away from them."

Caio looked at the locket in his pocket, then at the dark, swirling water beneath the floorboards. He felt the cold hum of the System at the base of his skull, waiting, watching.

"Let them come," Caio whispered, though he wasn't sure if he was talking to Mirella or to the empty space behind his eyes.

"What was that?" Mirella called from the ladder.

"Nothing," Caio said, picking up the wrench. "Let's keep moving."