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.
The Ship’s Log
Everything NOR has recorded since departure — the full record, newest first. One day aboard passes every hour of Earth time.
The schools release Funmilayo Singh to Archive & Schools. Generation 1 takes up its tools.
Amparo Quintana has made a tale-cycle called “Skys of Year 26.” Asked what it means, she says it means about nine years of evenings.
11.98 light-years remain. I have measured this voyage in breakfasts: some 82,757 thousand to go.
Clara Fairburn stands down from Archive & Schools at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
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.
The manifest shortens by one: Xiulan Bai, 73 years. The line rests with the ship now.
The youngest aboard is now Ebba Ning, minutes old, asleep. 1015 souls.
Funmilayo Danjuma stands down from Fabrication at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
Darya Ivanova stands down from Hydroponics at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
Bogdan Tereshkova stands down from Life Systems at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
Born on the first watch: Hakim Shen, generation 2. The ship holds 1014 souls tonight.
Morale index reads 52. The number is crude. The singing from the mess contradicts it.
Ruolan Deng stands down from Medical at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
The manifest shortens by one: Liv Vik, 55 years. The line rests with the ship now.
Tessa Underhill retires late in the second watch. The department logs a quiet debt it cannot repay in parts or hours.
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.
Shanta Devi stands down from Fabrication at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
First Light. The observation blister queues run all day: Teegarden's Star, held in the eyepiece, a little brighter than last year — 11.98 light-years to go.
Sixty-eight years: Oscar Jessop hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring C stands ready.
Jaroslav Varma chooses Archive & Schools — or it chooses him; the elders disagree cheerfully.
The hull ticks as it cools into the long night. Year 26, and I still log it faithfully: ticking, nominal.
Routine watch. The wheat in Bay 3 stands taller than its keepers. 81,723 days to orbit.
The circle has answered. Light rations. A tenth off every tray — noticed, grumbled at, borne.
A new tale-cycle from Fyodor Wisniewski — “The Inward Harvest.” The Archive takes a copy; the original belongs to whoever stands nearest.
Morale index reads 49. The number is crude. The singing from the mess contradicts it.
Last shift for Alice Northam, who joined Hydroponics half a century ago. The crew line the corridor and knock wrenches on the rails.
Carmen Domínguez retires on the first watch. The department logs a quiet debt it cannot repay in parts or hours.
11.99 light-years remain. I have measured this voyage in breakfasts: some 82,884 thousand to go.
Morale index reads 50. The number is crude. The singing from the mess contradicts it.
Abebi Yeboah died in quarters at brightening, 67 years old, once mycologist. 1014 souls aboard.
Last shift for Amir Rizk, who joined Archive & Schools half a century ago. The crew line the corridor and knock wrenches on the rails.
Census check: 1015 souls, 54 of them children. The manifest balances to the person, as it must.
Census check: 1015 souls, 54 of them children. The manifest balances to the person, as it must.
Annika Nystrom stands down from Hydroponics at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
After 65 years, Peizhi Cao has let go. Remembrance in the Ring A commons at next dimming.
The Assembly reaches its accord: schedules loosened, stores opened a measure, and a promise recorded in the permanent log. The ship exhales.
All boards green. I count 1016 sleeping heartbeats and call it a good night's work, though the work is theirs.
Suyin Yan does not wake on the night watch. 72 years, most of them given to Hydroponics.
The Ship's Assembly convenes in the largest commons. Everyone who wishes to speaks. I keep time and hold the record, nothing more.
Too soon, at 11: Inés Kowalczyk. The commons fills at dimming with those who knew her.
A work slowdown moves through the departments, orderly and cold. The ship runs; the ship also waits.
Sixty-eight years: Dominika Novak hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring B stands ready.
The star ahead brightens by amounts only I can love: another week, another hundred-millionth of a magnitude.
Dag Nordahl, sixteen, takes the machinist apprenticeship in Fabrication.
Cora Aldous retires on the night watch. The department logs a quiet debt it cannot repay in parts or hours.
Census check: 1018 souls, 56 of them children. The manifest balances to the person, as it must.
The star ahead brightens by amounts only I can love: another week, another hundred-millionth of a magnitude.
Too soon, at 48: Meera Subramaniam. The commons fills in the middle watch with those who knew her.
I dim the corridor lights a shade for Pavel Babich, 70. It is little enough.