I compare today's star field against day one's. The constellations have begun, very slightly, to come apart. Nobody else will look; that is what I am for.
The Ship’s Log
Everything NOR has recorded since departure — the full record, newest first. One day aboard passes every hour of Earth time.
Vasili Sharma died in quarters at brightening, 70 years old. 873 souls aboard.
Two names braided on the manifest tonight: Yasmin and Ramiro. The commons sings late.
Harriet Petrov is delivered of a son on the night watch. The child is called Chukwuemeka.
Census check: 873 souls, 183 of them children. The manifest balances to the person, as it must.
Cora Orellana, 93, generation 4, is carried down the spinal corridor feet-first, as the custom is.
Sixteen years for Arc Quill, who signs to Command at dimming and is given a locker, a sash, and a schedule.
Zenith Barakat takes the hand of Verne Petrov before the assembled watch. I witness, as I witness everything.
First Light. The observation blister queues run all day: Teegarden's Star, held in the eyepiece, a little brighter than last year — 2.55 light-years to go.
Eos Aaberg is delivered of a daughter late in the second watch. The child is called Yejide.
The youngest aboard is now Altair Orellana, minutes old, asleep. 873 souls.
Quiet shift. I re-run the arrival calculations for the 5,346th time. They have not changed. I find this restful.
Census check: 872 souls, 182 of them children. The manifest balances to the person, as it must.
Nora Fang is delivered of a daughter on the first watch. The child is called Altair.
The hull ticks as it cools into the long night. Year 187, and I still log it faithfully: ticking, nominal.
Census check: 871 souls, 181 of them children. The manifest balances to the person, as it must.
Routine watch. The wheat in Bay 3 stands taller than its keepers. 22,993 days to orbit.
Mohan Shen finishes a quilt: “The Small Garden.” It shows in the commons through the week.
Helm Quill and Rotimi Petrov name their son Ming. The nursery lamps stay warm.
A joining in Ring C: Percy Navarrete and Yamini Tväten. The pressing of cider is authorized.
All boards green. I count 870 sleeping heartbeats and call it a good night's work, though the work is theirs.
Kamala Tväten is delivered of a daughter late in the second watch. The child is called Peizhi.
The schools release Gayatri Shen to Drive. Generation 8 takes up its tools.
The star ahead brightens by amounts only I can love: another week, another hundred-millionth of a magnitude.
Liv Shen is delivered of a daughter at brightening. The child is called Pallas.
Torsten Thorvaldsen stands the walk of the full spinal corridor, as the sixteen-year custom is, and joins Archive & Schools.
The youngest aboard is now Oscar Tväten, minutes old, asleep. 868 souls.
A joining in Ring C: Ernest Ulriksen and Sanjay Navarrete. The pressing of cider is authorized.
Sable Shen finishes a quilt: “Spun Watch (Year 187).” It shows in the commons through the week.
Drift Sharma does not wake at brightening. 95 years, most of them given to Ecology.
Departure Day, year 187. The founders' roll is read from the first name to the thousandth, and the young ones try to stay solemn.
“Doors of Year 186,” a song by Orrery Valdivia, is unveiled late in the second watch to the particular applause of Drive.
Sixteen years for Tessa Diallo, who signs to Drive at dimming and is given a locker, a sash, and a schedule.
Born in the middle watch: Dalia Quill, generation 7. The ship holds 868 souls tonight.
Sixty-eight years: Yaw Fang hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring C stands ready.
Ghada Quill chooses Hydroponics — or it chooses her; the elders disagree cheerfully.
I compare today's star field against day one's. The constellations have begun, very slightly, to come apart. Nobody else will look; that is what I am for.
The manifest shortens by one: Mahmoud Merriweather, 93 years. The line rests with the ship now.
I dim the corridor lights a shade for Nora Aaberg, 67. It is little enough.
The schools release Aster Navarrete to Ecology. Generation 7 takes up its tools.
I compare today's star field against day one's. The constellations have begun, very slightly, to come apart. Nobody else will look; that is what I am for.
Remembrance day. The memorial wall is polished by hand, though nothing aboard needs polishing less.
Water Reclamation back in service. The old hands say it sounds better than before; the instruments say it sounds the same.
Morale index reads 78. The number is crude. The singing from the mess confirms it.
Uday Thorvaldsen finishes a instrument: “Bells of the commons.” It shows in the commons through the week.
I dim the corridor lights a shade for Svetlana Fang, 96. It is little enough.
Water Reclamation faults at brightening. Life Systems takes the call.
A wedding at dimming. Evgeni Petrov, Archive & Schools; Zenith Mansour, Medical. The ship approves in its way: the lights held steady throughout.
Teodoro Northam chooses Hydroponics — or it chooses him; the elders disagree cheerfully.
A child in Ring D asks the corridor speaker what Earth smelled like. I play the rainstorm recording. It is the best answer I have.