Year 29 of the voyage begins. The oldest bottle of orchard wine that can be spared is opened. It is always described as "improving."
The Ship’s Log
Everything NOR has recorded since departure — the full record, newest first. One day aboard passes every hour of Earth time.
Jaroslav Ostrowski retires in the middle watch. The department logs a quiet debt it cannot repay in parts or hours.
The star ahead brightens by amounts only I can love: another week, another hundred-millionth of a magnitude.
Khalid Vik and Yelena Valdivia, joined. Their quarters are re-assigned adjoining, per custom.
Quiet shift. I re-run the arrival calculations for the 1,564th time. They have not changed. I find this restful.
The youngest aboard is now Jiayi Shen, minutes old, asleep. 1004 souls.
By council vote, Xiaohui Deng takes the center chair as Captain. The watch changes hands without a tremor.
Sixty-eight years: Babatunde Ndiaye hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring D stands ready.
Winifred Aldous has died at 50, far too early. Fabrication stands down a shift in grief.
Sixty-eight years: Ivar Ekelund hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring B stands ready.
A joining in Ring D: Obinna Montoya and Jamila Ouyang. The pressing of cider is authorized.
Nikolai Morozov retires in the middle watch. 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.
Ignacio Fuentes does not wake at brightening. 63 years, most of them given to Medical.
Water reserve dips below the line. Showers go to ration timers; nobody sings in them, briefly.
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.
Night watch. The orchard sprinklers run their cycle, and the sound carries down the spine like weather.
All boards green. I count 1005 sleeping heartbeats and call it a good night's work, though the work is theirs.
All boards green. I count 1005 sleeping heartbeats and call it a good night's work, though the work is theirs.
Routine watch. The wheat in Bay 3 stands taller than its keepers. 80,834 days to orbit.
The hull ticks as it cools into the long night. Year 28, and I still log it faithfully: ticking, nominal.
Last shift for Nadia Wahba, who joined Life Systems half a century ago. The crew line the corridor and knock wrenches on the rails.
A daughter, Harriet Barakat, born in the Ring C infirmary to Umbra Barakat and Mahmoud Pemberton. Mother and child are well.
Dominika Jablonski retires late in the second watch. The department logs a quiet debt it cannot repay in parts or hours.
Routine watch. The wheat in Bay 3 stands taller than its keepers. 80,865 days to orbit.
A birth in Ring D: Jamila, girl, generation 2. I have added the name to the manifest with the others.
Last shift for Meera Varma, who joined Medical half a century ago. The crew line the corridor and knock wrenches on the rails.
Sixty-eight years: Bruno Valdivia hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring A stands ready.
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.
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 child in Ring B asks the corridor speaker what Earth smelled like. I play the rainstorm recording. It is the best answer I have.
Adaeze Sowande retires on the first watch. The department logs a quiet debt it cannot repay in parts or hours.
Green across the board: Thermal Control holds after 2 weeks of work. Spares were spent; Fabrication is notified.
Routine watch. The wheat in Bay 3 stands taller than its keepers. 80,905 days to orbit.
“Lanterns of Year 28,” a play by Ulyana Smirnov, is unveiled in the middle watch to the particular applause of Medical.
Renshu Ma stands down from Life Systems at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
Verne Petrov and Theodore Solheim name their daughter Ulyana. The nursery lamps stay warm.
Trouble in Thermal Control. The board goes amber; the coffee goes on.
Shanta Aaberg and Cedric Fang name their daughter Ruth. The nursery lamps stay warm.
Sixty-eight years: Zaid Khoury hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring B stands ready.
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.
Last shift for Peizhi Zhou, who joined Medical half a century ago. The crew line the corridor and knock wrenches on the rails.
Two names braided on the manifest tonight: Mahmoud and Umbra. The commons sings late.
Bernardo Cárdenas retires at brightening. 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.
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.
“A outward map,” a mural by Iris Kellaway, is unveiled in the middle watch to the particular applause of Hydroponics.
First Light festival. The children are lifted to the eyepiece one by one to see where they are going.
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.