Ruolan Shen stands down from Drive at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
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 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.
Cygnet Aaberg died in quarters at brightening, 92 years old. 858 souls aboard.
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.
Yash Pillai has made a instrument called “Ladders of Year 150.” Asked what it means, he says it means about nine years of evenings.
The manifest shortens by one: Ishaan Jaber, 95 years. The line rests with the ship now.
Routine watch. The wheat in Bay 3 stands taller than its keepers. 36,349 days to orbit.
Last shift for Xingyu Jaber, who joined Ecology half a century ago. The crew line the corridor and knock wrenches on the rails.
Repair complete on Atmosphere Processing after 4 days. I run the test cycle twice, out of respect for history.
Routine watch. The wheat in Bay 3 stands taller than its keepers. 36,362 days to orbit.
CO₂ trim goes ragged as a processor bank fails. Life Systems is on it before I finish the announcement.
First watch. The orchard sprinklers run their cycle, and the sound carries down the spine like weather.
Repair complete on Water Reclamation after 32 long days. I run the test cycle twice, out of respect for history.
The Crossing feast: more behind than ahead. The long tables come out; the good preserves come down.
Adewale Valdivia, sixteen, takes the pharmacist apprenticeship in Medical.
Born at dimming: Altair Tväten, generation 6. The ship holds 860 souls tonight.
The question is put to the wider circle: Water discipline. The ship asks; Earth answers, in its own long time.
Census check: 859 souls, 167 of them children. The manifest balances to the person, as it must.
A new tale-cycle from Yash Pillai — “Winters of Year 150.” The Archive takes a copy; the original belongs to whoever stands nearest.
Raisa Orellana is delivered of a daughter at brightening. The child is called Umbra.
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.
After 63 years, Rajesh Quaye has let go. Remembrance in the Ring D commons at next dimming.
First watch. The orchard sprinklers run their cycle, and the sound carries down the spine like weather.
Two names braided on the manifest tonight: Xavier and Teresa. The commons sings late.
Oluwaseun Merriweather and Wenbo Quaye name their son Edmund. The nursery lamps stay warm.
Fault isolated in Water Reclamation. Repair estimate: unwise to say aloud.
Boreal Shen, 89, generation 3, is carried down the spinal corridor feet-first, as the custom is.
“Harvest for the Turning Door,” a play by Ion Yan, is unveiled on the night watch to the particular applause of Drive.
I dim the corridor lights a shade for Yuri Aaberg, 78. It is little enough.
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.
The star ahead brightens by amounts only I can love: another week, another hundred-millionth of a magnitude.
The youngest aboard is now Pranav Yan, minutes old, asleep. 860 souls.
4.75 light-years remain. I have measured this voyage in breakfasts: some 31,294 thousand to go.
Renshu Jaber stands the walk of the full spinal corridor, as the sixteen-year custom is, and joins Archive & Schools.
Radhika Ouyang stands down from Life Systems at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
Born on the night watch: Qing Shen, generation 7. The ship holds 859 souls tonight.
The hull ticks as it cools into the long night. Year 150, and I still log it faithfully: ticking, nominal.
First Light festival. The children are lifted to the eyepiece one by one to see where they are going.
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.
First watch. The orchard sprinklers run their cycle, and the sound carries down the spine like weather.
Yolanda Quill does not wake late in the second watch. 80 years, most of them given to Command.
Jiayi Peng and Bohai Quill name their son Verne. The nursery lamps stay warm.
A wedding in the middle watch. Chengdong Quill, Fabrication; Boreal Petrov, Medical. The ship approves in its way: the lights held steady throughout.
Sixty-eight years: Quill Shen hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring D stands ready.
Routine watch. The wheat in Bay 3 stands taller than its keepers. 36,472 days to orbit.
Ekundayo Northam retires on the night watch. The department logs a quiet debt it cannot repay in parts or hours.
The hull ticks as it cools into the long night. Year 150, and I still log it faithfully: ticking, nominal.
Arc Kowalczyk retires at brightening. The department logs a quiet debt it cannot repay in parts or hours.
The hull ticks as it cools into the long night. Year 150, and I still log it faithfully: ticking, nominal.
Emeka Petrov does not wake on the first watch. 84 years, most of them given to Hydroponics.