Departure Day, year 142. The founders' roll is read from the first name to the thousandth, and the young ones try to stay solemn.
The Ship’s Log
Everything NOR has recorded since departure — the full record, newest first. One day aboard passes every hour of Earth time.
Sixteen years for Maja Jaber, who signs to Drive at dimming and is given a locker, a sash, and a schedule.
After 88 years, Tomasz Northam has let go. Remembrance in the Ring C commons at next dimming.
Census check: 890 souls, 145 of them children. The manifest balances to the person, as it must.
Cygnet Merriweather and Aster Aaberg, joined. Their quarters are re-assigned adjoining, per custom.
All boards green. I count 890 sleeping heartbeats and call it a good night's work, though the work is theirs.
Jiayi Peng and Bohai Quill name their son Verne. The nursery lamps stay warm.
Morale index reads 83. The number is crude. The singing from the mess confirms it.
First watch. The orchard sprinklers run their cycle, and the sound carries down the spine like weather.
Maintenance sweep of Ring D complete. Somewhere aft a wrench is missing; it will surface in a decade, in a wall, with a story attached.
Yusuf Valdivia retires at brightening. The department logs a quiet debt it cannot repay in parts or hours.
A wedding late in the second watch. Konstantin Nwosu, Archive & Schools; Gunhild Valdivia, Hydroponics. The ship approves in its way: the lights held steady throughout.
Last shift for Amparo Quaye, who joined Hydroponics half a century ago. The crew line the corridor and knock wrenches on the rails.
Samira Quill is delivered of a son on the night watch. The child is called Faisal.
Xiulan Orellana stands down from Medical at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
A first shift for Zbigniew Kong, sixteen: air systems tech, Life Systems. The badge is printed fresh.
Renshu Kong died in quarters at dimming, 92 years old. 888 souls aboard.
The hull ticks as it cools into the long night. Year 141, and I still log it faithfully: ticking, nominal.
Adrián Quill and Abebi Nwosu are joined under the orchard lamps. The whole of Hydroponics turns out.
Remembrance. All names read since the last one — held in silence in every ring at the same hour. I keep the lights low until it is done.
Everett Zhao finishes a play: “Gardens of Year 141.” It shows in the commons through the week.
Born on the night watch: Orrery Pillai, generation 6. The ship holds 889 souls tonight.
Morale index reads 81. The number is crude. The singing from the mess confirms it.
Born on the night watch: Lumen Zhao, generation 6. The ship holds 888 souls tonight.
The circle has answered. The second orchard is approved. The hold's ribs are hung with lamps, and the first soil goes in with ceremony and shovels.
Morale index reads 82. The number is crude. The singing from the mess confirms it.
Census check: 887 souls, 142 of them children. The manifest balances to the person, as it must.
A child in Ring C asks the corridor speaker what Earth smelled like. I play the rainstorm recording. It is the best answer I have.
A new quilt from Ember Jaber — “Bright Window, Unlit Winter.” The Archive takes a copy; the original belongs to whoever stands nearest.
Bhavana Thorvaldsen has made a instrument called “Furrows of the drive gallery.” Asked what it means, she says it means about nine years of evenings.
Fermín Fossum does not wake late in the second watch. 88 years, most of them given to Medical.
5.26 light-years remain. I have measured this voyage in breakfasts: some 35,171 thousand to go.
The hull ticks as it cools into the long night. Year 141, and I still log it faithfully: ticking, nominal.
Adaeze Valdivia is delivered of a son on the night watch. The child is called Aster.
Ming Thorvaldsen has made a instrument called “Doors of Year 141.” Asked what it means, he says it means about nine years of evenings.
After 89 years, Elin Yan has let go. Remembrance in the Ring A commons at next dimming.
Cora Quill stands down from Medical at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
Meridian Fang finishes a quilt: “Fields of Year 141.” It shows in the commons through the week.
Census check: 888 souls, 141 of them children. The manifest balances to the person, as it must.
Tern Mansour chooses Medical — or it chooses her; the elders disagree cheerfully.
Middle watch. The orchard sprinklers run their cycle, and the sound carries down the spine like weather.
Sixty-eight years: Ikenna Zhao hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring D stands ready.
Layla Shen, 84, generation 3, is carried down the spinal corridor feet-first, as the custom is.
I dim the corridor lights a shade for Marzena Kong, 89. It is little enough.
Sixty-eight years: Kofi Tväten hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring D stands ready.
Marzena Nwosu and Knut Aaberg name their daughter Efua. The nursery lamps stay warm.
The Crossing. Every year it is observed, and every year someone stands to say the second half is the harder, and is booed warmly.
Kavita Ouyang is delivered of a son in the middle watch. The child is called Zenith.
Sixteen years for Keel Thorvaldsen, who signs to Command late in the second watch and is given a locker, a sash, and a schedule.
5.27 light-years remain. I have measured this voyage in breakfasts: some 35,230 thousand to go.