Milena Tväten takes the hand of Karim Shen before the assembled watch. I witness, as I witness everything.
The Ship’s Log
Everything NOR has recorded since departure — the full record, newest first. One day aboard passes every hour of Earth time.
A first shift for Yuri Sharma, sixteen: irrigation tech, Hydroponics. The badge is printed fresh.
Sixty-eight years: Anli Northam hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring C stands ready.
Sixty-eight years: Vasili Northam hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring A stands ready.
The hull ticks as it cools into the long night. Year 148, and I still log it faithfully: ticking, nominal.
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.
Departure Day, year 148. The founders' roll is read from the first name to the thousandth, and the young ones try to stay solemn.
Census check: 871 souls, 165 of them children. The manifest balances to the person, as it must.
4.89 light-years remain. I have measured this voyage in breakfasts: some 32,487 thousand to go.
Census check: 871 souls, 165 of them children. The manifest balances to the person, as it must.
A new tale-cycle from Alejandro Zhao — “Five Lanterns Rising.” The Archive takes a copy; the original belongs to whoever stands nearest.
Sable Valdivia does not wake at brightening. 85 years, most of them given to Hydroponics.
4.89 light-years remain. I have measured this voyage in breakfasts: some 32,534 thousand to go.
Khalid Northam does not wake on the night watch. 89 years, most of them given to Archive & Schools.
“Harvests of Year 147,” a mural by Viggo Diallo, is unveiled at dimming to the particular applause of Medical.
Walid Quaye does not wake on the first watch. 99 years, most of them given to Command.
Enlai Fang stands down from Medical at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
Sixteen years for Lumen Fang, who signs to Command late in the second watch and is given a locker, a sash, and a schedule.
A child in Ring A asks the corridor speaker what Earth smelled like. I play the rainstorm recording. It is the best answer I have.
The manifest shortens by one: Kofi Navarrete, 91 years. 1 children carry the line on.
Galina Tväten, sixteen, takes the water systems tech apprenticeship in Life Systems.
The star ahead brightens by amounts only I can love: another week, another hundred-millionth of a magnitude.
Last shift for Bhavana Thorvaldsen, who joined Drive half a century ago. The crew line the corridor and knock wrenches on the rails.
Thermal Control restored after 2 weeks. Halley Thorvaldsen signs the work order and goes to sleep for a full watch.
The schools release Deshi Tväten to Archive & Schools. Generation 5 takes up its tools.
A first shift for Tessa Tväten, sixteen: seedkeeper, Hydroponics. The badge is printed fresh.
A son, Kofi Petrov, born in the Ring A infirmary to Quill Petrov and Yaw Fang. Mother and child are well.
Routine watch. The wheat in Bay 3 stands taller than its keepers. 37,345 days to orbit.
The youngest aboard is now Orrery Valdivia, minutes old, asleep. 874 souls.
Orrery Barakat stands down from Fabrication at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
Trouble in Thermal Control. The board goes amber; the coffee goes on.
Sixty-eight years: Anastasia Fang hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring B stands ready.
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.
Census check: 873 souls, 167 of them children. The manifest balances to the person, as it must.
Nnamdi Thorvaldsen works out a tougher print alloy from recycler feedstock. Fabrication adopts it the same week.
“The Distant Wheel,” a poem by Magnus Merriweather, is unveiled on the first watch to the particular applause of Archive & Schools.
Routine watch. The wheat in Bay 3 stands taller than its keepers. 37,382 days to orbit.
The hull ticks as it cools into the long night. Year 147, and I still log it faithfully: ticking, nominal.
I dim the corridor lights a shade for Ghada Aaberg, 81. It is little enough.
Sixty-eight years: Astrid Fang hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring D stands ready.
Morale index reads 82. The number is crude. The singing from the mess confirms it.
Keel Navarrete stands the walk of the full spinal corridor, as the sixteen-year custom is, and joins Medical.
Two names braided on the manifest tonight: Meridian and Harini. The commons sings late.
Yueqin Fang died in quarters on the first watch, 89 years old. 874 souls aboard.
First watch. The orchard sprinklers run their cycle, and the sound carries down the spine like weather.
Eos Quill chooses Fabrication — or it chooses him; the elders disagree cheerfully.
The star ahead brightens by amounts only I can love: another week, another hundred-millionth of a magnitude.
A son, Ibrahim Thorvaldsen, born in the Ring C infirmary to Iris Thorvaldsen and Ignacio Pillai. Mother and child are well.
I dim the corridor lights a shade for Dalia Merriweather, 94. It is little enough.
After 68 years, Ember Jaber has let go. Remembrance in the Ring B commons at next dimming.