Bernard Pemberton does not wake late in the second watch. 103 years, most of them given to Ecology.
The Ship’s Log
Everything NOR has recorded since departure — the full record, newest first. One day aboard passes every hour of Earth time.
Last shift for Mahmoud Merriweather, who joined Life Systems half a century ago. The crew line the corridor and knock wrenches on the rails.
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.
A first shift for Keel Thorvaldsen, sixteen: sanitation engineer, Life Systems. The badge is printed fresh.
A birth in Ring A: Zahra, girl, generation 6. I have added the name to the manifest with the others.
Arjun Thorvaldsen, 93, generation 3, is carried down the spinal corridor feet-first, as the custom is.
Huda Jaber and Guowei Nwosu name their son Gantry. The nursery lamps stay warm.
Sixteen years for Zaid Nwosu, who signs to Hydroponics at brightening and is given a locker, a sash, and a schedule.
Sixty-eight years: Jaroslav Navarrete hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring C stands ready.
Rania Tväten has made a song called “Threads of Year 161.” Asked what it means, she says it means about nine years of evenings.
Teresa Quill stands the walk of the full spinal corridor, as the sixteen-year custom is, and joins Medical.
The schools release Zhihao Yan to Archive & Schools. Generation 5 takes up its tools.
The star ahead brightens by amounts only I can love: another week, another hundred-millionth of a magnitude.
First Light. The observation blister queues run all day: Teegarden's Star, held in the eyepiece, a little brighter than last year — 4.09 light-years to go.
Sixteen years for Franklin Petrov, who signs to Archive & Schools at brightening and is given a locker, a sash, and a schedule.
Maintenance sweep of Ring C complete. Somewhere aft a wrench is missing; it will surface in a decade, in a wall, with a story attached.
A daughter, Wren Quill, born in the Ring C infirmary to Zahra Quill and Viggo Thorvaldsen. Mother and child are well.
Rell Quill stands the walk of the full spinal corridor, as the sixteen-year custom is, and joins Life Systems.
Quiet shift. I re-run the arrival calculations for the 4,863th time. They have not changed. I find this restful.
Milena Tväten is delivered of a daughter at brightening. The child is called Clara.
All boards green. I count 821 sleeping heartbeats and call it a good night's work, though the work is theirs.
A new quilt from Wei Navarrete — “Anchors of the observation blister.” The Archive takes a copy; the original belongs to whoever stands nearest.
Kamala Fang retires late in the second watch. The department logs a quiet debt it cannot repay in parts or hours.
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.
A daughter, Ulyana Valdivia, born in the Ring B infirmary to Rell Valdivia and Chukwuemeka Nwosu. Mother and child are well.
Wei Navarrete has made a tale-cycle called “Watchs of Year 161.” Asked what it means, he says it means about nine years of evenings.
A wedding on the night watch. Per Kong, Ecology; Iris Navarrete, Archive & Schools. The ship approves in its way: the lights held steady throughout.
The youngest aboard is now Amparo Shen, minutes old, asleep. 820 souls.
Gantry Navarrete works out a tougher print alloy from recycler feedstock. Fabrication adopts it the same week.
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.
Sixty-eight years: Caelum Aaberg hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring D stands ready.
Pranav Merriweather chooses Hydroponics — or it chooses him; the elders disagree cheerfully.
Meera Shen stands down from Command at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
4.11 light-years remain. I have measured this voyage in breakfasts: some 26,627 thousand to go.
Two names braided on the manifest tonight: Bogdan and Johanna. The commons sings late.
All boards green. I count 819 sleeping heartbeats and call it a good night's work, though the work is theirs.
Jinghua Tväten stands down from Fabrication at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
Sixty-eight years: Konstantin Tväten hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring B stands ready.
All boards green. I count 819 sleeping heartbeats and call it a good night's work, though the work is theirs.
Maintenance sweep of Ring C complete. Somewhere aft a wrench is missing; it will surface in a decade, in a wall, with a story attached.
Morale index reads 79. The number is crude. The singing from the mess confirms it.
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.
Born on the night watch: Mateo Fang, generation 7. The ship holds 819 souls tonight.
The star ahead brightens by amounts only I can love: another week, another hundred-millionth of a magnitude.
A birth in Ring C: Rotimi, boy, generation 6. I have added the name to the manifest with the others.
Year 161 of the voyage begins. The oldest bottle of orchard wine that can be spared is opened. It is always described as "improving."
Gunhild Ulriksen, 71, generation 4, is carried down the spinal corridor feet-first, as the custom is.
The hull ticks as it cools into the long night. Year 160, and I still log it faithfully: ticking, nominal.
Arjun Pemberton retires at brightening. The department logs a quiet debt it cannot repay in parts or hours.
Sixty-eight years: Stanley Navarrete hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring C stands ready.