Gilbert Fairburn, sixteen, takes the seedkeeper apprenticeship in Hydroponics.
The Ship’s Log
Everything NOR has recorded since departure — the full record, newest first. One day aboard passes every hour of Earth time.
Harriet Fairburn, 73, generation 0, is carried down the spinal corridor feet-first, as the custom is.
Fernanda Ibarra stands down from Archive & Schools at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
Ulises Figueroa finishes a quilt: “What the Corridor Carries.” It shows in the commons through the week.
12.00 light-years remain. I have measured this voyage in breakfasts: some 83,538 thousand to go.
Departure Day, year 26. The founders' roll is read from the first name to the thousandth, and the young ones try to stay solemn.
A joining in Ring C: Ulises Abiodun and Mabel Nwosu. The pressing of cider is authorized.
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.
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.
Last shift for Konstantin Pavlenko, who joined Medical half a century ago. The crew line the corridor and knock wrenches on the rails.
Sixty-eight years: Elsie Hartley hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring A stands ready.
Nora Thorvaldsen is delivered of a son at dimming. The child is called Rotimi.
The question is put to the wider circle: Rationing. The ship asks; Earth answers, in its own long time.
Last shift for Usman Fakhoury, who joined Archive & Schools 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.
Quiet shift. I re-run the arrival calculations for the 457th time. They have not changed. I find this restful.
Tara Thorvaldsen, sixteen, takes the toolmaker apprenticeship in Fabrication.
The star ahead brightens by amounts only I can love: another week, another hundred-millionth of a magnitude.
The star ahead brightens by amounts only I can love: another week, another hundred-millionth of a magnitude.
Routine watch. The wheat in Bay 3 stands taller than its keepers. 81,874 days to orbit.
The star ahead brightens by amounts only I can love: another week, another hundred-millionth of a magnitude.
The food reserve crosses its caution line. Portions hold for now; the conversation in the mess does not.
First watch. The orchard sprinklers run their cycle, and the sound carries down the spine like weather.
Bruno Zambrano has made a quilt called “Doors of Year 25.” Asked what it means, he says it means about nine years of evenings.
Arjun Hegde retires at brightening. The department logs a quiet debt it cannot repay in parts or hours.
Remembrance day. The memorial wall is polished by hand, though nothing aboard needs polishing less.
Sixty-eight years: Dmitri Morozov hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring A stands ready.
Sixty-eight years: Octavio Figueroa hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring B stands ready.
Night watch. The orchard sprinklers run their cycle, and the sound carries down the spine like weather.
Census check: 1020 souls, 57 of them children. The manifest balances to the person, as it must.
Gunhild Fjeld retires on the first watch. The department logs a quiet debt it cannot repay in parts or hours.
Zainab Nwosu, 63, generation 0, is carried down the spinal corridor feet-first, as the custom is.
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.
Opal Kingsley retires on the night watch. The department logs a quiet debt it cannot repay in parts or hours.
Sixty-eight years: Shanyuan Meng hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring D stands ready.
The hull ticks as it cools into the long night. Year 25, and I still log it faithfully: ticking, nominal.
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.
Vera Orellana chooses Drive — or it chooses her; the elders disagree cheerfully.
Sixty-eight years: Harini Sharma hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring B stands ready.
Ruolan Luo retires on the night watch. The department logs a quiet debt it cannot repay in parts or hours.
Qasim Saab and Huifen Peng, joined. Their quarters are re-assigned adjoining, per custom.
A new tale-cycle from Mahmoud Aswad — “A unlit orchard.” The Archive takes a copy; the original belongs to whoever stands nearest.
The hull ticks as it cools into the long night. Year 25, and I still log it faithfully: ticking, nominal.
Routine watch. The wheat in Bay 3 stands taller than its keepers. 82,011 days to orbit.
First watch. The orchard sprinklers run their cycle, and the sound carries down the spine like weather.
The star ahead brightens by amounts only I can love: another week, another hundred-millionth of a magnitude.
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.
Cedric Fang and Shanta Aaberg, joined. Their quarters are re-assigned adjoining, per custom.
A child in Ring B asks the corridor speaker what Earth smelled like. I play the rainstorm recording. It is the best answer I have.
Anli Peng retires on the night watch. The department logs a quiet debt it cannot repay in parts or hours.