Bhavana Raghunathan has made a instrument called “The Small Orchard.” Asked what it means, she says it means about nine years of evenings.
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.
Routine watch. The wheat in Bay 3 stands taller than its keepers. 78,947 days to orbit.
Vera Kowalczyk retires late in the second watch. The department logs a quiet debt it cannot repay in parts or hours.
Sixteen years for Frederick Chatterjee, who signs to Hydroponics at dimming and is given a locker, a sash, and a schedule.
Gunhild Thorvaldsen is delivered of a son late in the second watch. The child is called Drift.
Remembrance. All names read since the last one — held in silence in every ring at the same hour. I keep the lights low until it is done.
The circle has answered. No deferrals. The ship chooses more voices in the corridors and sharper eyes on the gauges.
11.65 light-years remain. I have measured this voyage in breakfasts: some 75,100 thousand to go.
The youngest aboard is now Chengdong Jaber, minutes old, asleep. 951 souls.
A new instrument from Winifred Merriweather — “A turning thread.” The Archive takes a copy; the original belongs to whoever stands nearest.
Last shift for Yuri Dubrovsky, who joined Fabrication half a century ago. The crew line the corridor and knock wrenches on the rails.
Last shift for Hassan Darwish, who joined Drive half a century ago. The crew line the corridor and knock wrenches on the rails.
All boards green. I count 950 sleeping heartbeats and call it a good night's work, though the work is theirs.
Yelena Valdivia is delivered of a daughter on the first watch. The child is called Ifeoma.
Sixty-eight years: Ramiro Palacios hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring A stands ready.
First watch. The orchard sprinklers run their cycle, and the sound carries down the spine like weather.
The hull ticks as it cools into the long night. Year 33, and I still log it faithfully: ticking, nominal.
Chiamaka Quaye retires on the first watch. The department logs a quiet debt it cannot repay in parts or hours.
A new song from Igor Romanov — “Outward Door (Year 33).” The Archive takes a copy; the original belongs to whoever stands nearest.
The manifest shortens by one: Cora Fairburn, 73 years. The line rests with the ship now.
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 3,272th time. They have not changed. I find this restful.
I dim the corridor lights a shade for Renshu Ma, 73. It is little enough.
Last shift for Guiying Jin, who joined Hydroponics half a century ago. The crew line the corridor and knock wrenches on the rails.
The manifest shortens by one: Radomir Fedorenko, 77 years. The line rests with the ship now.
After 78 years, Ernest Ingram has let go. Remembrance in the Ring A commons at next dimming.
Mabel Nwosu and Ulises Abiodun name their daughter Vega. The nursery lamps stay warm.
Green across the board: Comms Array holds after 4 days of work. Spares were spent; Fabrication is notified.
A birth in Ring B: Ylva, girl, generation 2. I have added the name to the manifest with the others.
Fault isolated in Comms Array. Repair estimate: unwise to say aloud.
All boards green. I count 951 sleeping heartbeats and call it a good night's work, though the work is theirs.
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.
Octavio Bustamante died in quarters at dimming, 74 years old. 951 souls aboard.
Thermal Control back in service. The old hands say it sounds better than before; the instruments say it sounds the same.
Percy Iverson stands down from Fabrication at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
Census check: 952 souls, 65 of them children. The manifest balances to the person, as it must.
Fault isolated in Thermal Control. Repair estimate: unwise to say aloud.
The question is put to the wider circle: The crèche question. The ship asks; Earth answers, in its own long time.
Last shift for Gayatri Yadav, who joined Archive & Schools half a century ago. The crew line the corridor and knock wrenches on the rails.
Sixteen years for César Bishara, who signs to Life Systems on the first watch and is given a locker, a sash, and a schedule.
Last shift for Ifeoma Jelani, who joined Life Systems half a century ago. The crew line the corridor and knock wrenches on the rails.
A daughter, Altair Orellana, born in the Ring B infirmary to Vera Orellana and Ramiro Lockhart. Mother and child are well.
A birth in Ring D: Elsie, girl, generation 2. I have added the name to the manifest with the others.
Kayode Chike retires late in the second watch. The department logs a quiet debt it cannot repay in parts or hours.
Born on the night watch: Gunhild Petrov, generation 2. The ship holds 950 souls tonight.
All boards green. I count 949 sleeping heartbeats and call it a good night's work, though the work is theirs.
I dim the corridor lights a shade for Adewale Abiodun, 81. It is little enough.
All boards green. I count 950 sleeping heartbeats and call it a good night's work, though the work is theirs.
The star ahead brightens by amounts only I can love: another week, another hundred-millionth of a magnitude.