Ludmila Aaberg does not wake on the first watch. 60 years, most of them given to Drive.
The Ship’s Log
Everything NOR has recorded since departure — the full record, newest first. One day aboard passes every hour of Earth time.
I dim the corridor lights a shade for Bernard Ashworth, 91. It is little enough.
6.13 light-years remain. I have measured this voyage in breakfasts: some 42,834 thousand to go.
6.13 light-years remain. I have measured this voyage in breakfasts: some 42,835 thousand to go.
Departure Day, year 127. The founders' roll is read from the first name to the thousandth, and the young ones try to stay solemn.
Iris Kong, sixteen, takes the reactor tech apprenticeship in Drive.
Wei Navarrete stands the walk of the full spinal corridor, as the sixteen-year custom is, and joins Life Systems.
Sixty-eight years: Halvard Diallo hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring A stands ready.
The manifest shortens by one: Tern Aaberg, 72 years. 1 children carry the line on.
Sixteen years for Knut Barakat, who signs to Life Systems at dimming and is given a locker, a sash, and a schedule.
All boards green. I count 954 sleeping heartbeats and call it a good night's work, though the work is theirs.
Census check: 954 souls, 113 of them children. The manifest balances to the person, as it must.
Noor Shen has died at 26, far too early. Medical stands down a shift in grief.
The hull ticks as it cools into the long night. Year 126, and I still log it faithfully: ticking, nominal.
Remembrance day. The memorial wall is polished by hand, though nothing aboard needs polishing less.
Tern Quill finishes a instrument: “Waters of Bay 3.” It shows in the commons through the week.
“A spun engine,” a poem by Vasili Northam, is unveiled on the first watch to the particular applause of Hydroponics.
After 85 years, Adaeze Thorvaldsen has let go. Remembrance in the Ring C commons at next dimming.
6.15 light-years remain. I have measured this voyage in breakfasts: some 43,051 thousand to go.
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.
Last shift for Meilin Valdivia, who joined Life Systems half a century ago. The crew line the corridor and knock wrenches on the rails.
The star ahead brightens by amounts only I can love: another week, another hundred-millionth of a magnitude.
Martin Fang and Margaret Nwosu are joined under the orchard lamps. The whole of Archive & Schools turns out.
Martin Quaye retires on the night watch. The department logs a quiet debt it cannot repay in parts or hours.
Born on the night watch: Tatiana Mansour, generation 5. The ship holds 956 souls tonight.
A first shift for Eleanor Northam, sixteen: recycler, Fabrication. The badge is printed fresh.
Ming Thorvaldsen stands down from Hydroponics at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
Last shift for Lucía Quill, who joined Life Systems half a century ago. The crew line the corridor and knock wrenches on the rails.
A new quilt from Guadalupe Thorvaldsen — “Hollow Winter, Inward Window.” The Archive takes a copy; the original belongs to whoever stands nearest.
Tao Thorvaldsen stands down from Archive & Schools at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
Night watch. The orchard sprinklers run their cycle, and the sound carries down the spine like weather.
I dim the corridor lights a shade for Gbenga Merriweather, 80. It is little enough.
Yaw Aaberg finishes a quilt: “Hymns of Year 126.” It shows in the commons through the week.
Jaroslav Navarrete finishes a instrument: “Signal for the Outward Watch.” It shows in the commons through the week.
The hull ticks as it cools into the long night. Year 126, and I still log it faithfully: ticking, nominal.
Kayode Pillai, 87, generation 2, is carried down the spinal corridor feet-first, as the custom is.
The circle has answered. The evenings belong to the ship's own voices. The commons learn each other's songs, and the applause is for people with quarters three doors down.
Night watch. The orchard sprinklers run their cycle, and the sound carries down the spine like weather.
Winifred Quaye does not wake on the night watch. 95 years, most of them given to Life Systems.
A first shift for Omar Pemberton, sixteen: physician, Medical. The badge is printed fresh.
A new quilt from Adrián Diallo — “The Unlit Anchor.” The Archive takes a copy; the original belongs to whoever stands nearest.
The Crossing feast: more behind than ahead. The long tables come out; the good preserves come down.
Born at dimming: Cygnet Quill, generation 5. The ship holds 958 souls tonight.
Last shift for Cygnet Aaberg, who joined Drive half a century ago. The crew line the corridor and knock wrenches on the rails.
All boards green. I count 957 sleeping heartbeats and call it a good night's work, though the work is theirs.
The manifest shortens by one: Xenia Fang, 71 years. 1 children carry the line on.
Xiulan Tväten, sixteen, takes the sanitation engineer apprenticeship in Life Systems.
Last shift for Tariq Thorvaldsen, who joined Fabrication half a century ago. The crew line the corridor and knock wrenches on the rails.
Quiet shift. I re-run the arrival calculations for the 1,119th time. They have not changed. I find this restful.
Sixty-eight years: Khalid Northam hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring C stands ready.