Dawud Maalouf stands down from Hydroponics at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
The Ship’s Log
Everything NOR has recorded since departure — the full record, newest first. One day aboard passes every hour of Earth time.
After 82 years, Yelena Nowak has let go. Remembrance in the Ring D commons at next dimming.
First watch. The orchard sprinklers run their cycle, and the sound carries down the spine like weather.
First watch. The orchard sprinklers run their cycle, and the sound carries down the spine like weather.
Sixteen years for Fathom Gallardo, who signs to Life Systems at dimming and is given a locker, a sash, and a schedule.
Howard Standish stands down from Life Systems at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
The circle has answered. Agronomy takes the morning hours. The schools smell of soil, and the racks gain a hundred small careful hands.
Maintenance sweep of Ring B complete. Somewhere aft a wrench is missing; it will surface in a decade, in a wall, with a story attached.
Agnieszka Gagarin's crew brings Drive back after 33 long days.
Dagny Paulsen stands down from Drive at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
Remembrance day. The memorial wall is polished by hand, though nothing aboard needs polishing less.
Yewande Uche died in quarters on the first watch, 80 years old. 947 souls aboard.
Beatriz Fang stands the walk of the full spinal corridor, as the sixteen-year custom is, and joins Hydroponics.
The hull ticks as it cools into the long night. Year 34, and I still log it faithfully: ticking, nominal.
Fault isolated in Drive. Repair estimate: unwise to say aloud.
Last shift for Solveig Thorvaldsen, who joined Archive & Schools half a century ago. The crew line the corridor and knock wrenches on the rails.
The hull ticks as it cools into the long night. Year 34, and I still log it faithfully: ticking, nominal.
Arne Brekke stands down from Drive at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
Census check: 948 souls, 72 of them children. The manifest balances to the person, as it must.
Joaquín Ibarra has made a mural called “Bright Door, Bright Map.” Asked what it means, he says it means about nine years of evenings.
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.
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 star ahead brightens by amounts only I can love: another week, another hundred-millionth of a magnitude.
Yelena Zielinski died in quarters late in the second watch, 60 years old, once physician. 948 souls aboard.
“Furrow for the Inward Thread,” a quilt by Maja Moller, is unveiled late in the second watch to the particular applause of Life Systems.
Jamal Baz retires on the first watch. The department logs a quiet debt it cannot repay in parts or hours.
Silvia Domínguez died in quarters in the middle watch, 82 years old. 949 souls aboard.
Census check: 950 souls, 72 of them children. The manifest balances to the person, as it must.
Last shift for Chunhua Feng, who joined Archive & Schools half a century ago. The crew line the corridor and knock wrenches on the rails.
Sixty-eight years: Temitope Uche hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring C stands ready.
The youngest aboard is now Emilio Barakat, minutes old, asleep. 950 souls.
A new song from Tarun Hegde — “What the Bell Keeps.” The Archive takes a copy; the original belongs to whoever stands nearest.
The question is put to the wider circle: The curriculum question. The ship asks; Earth answers, in its own long time.
Sixty-eight years: Enlai Ouyang hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring D stands ready.
Last shift for Chiamaka Ndiaye, who joined Fabrication half a century ago. The crew line the corridor and knock wrenches on the rails.
Tatiana Babich times an occultation to refine our ephemeris. The course correction is smaller than a held breath.
All boards green. I count 949 sleeping heartbeats and call it a good night's work, though the work is theirs.
The hull ticks as it cools into the long night. Year 34, and I still log it faithfully: ticking, nominal.
Xiaohui Xie stands down from Life Systems at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
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.
Josefina Herrera stands down from Drive at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
Jaya Chandrasekaran stands down from Hydroponics at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
11.62 light-years remain. I have measured this voyage in breakfasts: some 74,746 thousand to go.
Abena Falade died in quarters at dimming, 83 years old. 949 souls aboard.
Morale index reads 66. The number is crude. The singing from the mess confirms it.
Chunhua Yan retires at brightening. 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. 78,779 days to orbit.
First Light. The observation blister queues run all day: Teegarden's Star, held in the eyepiece, a little brighter than last year — 11.62 light-years to go.
The manifest shortens by one: Jianguo Feng, 77 years. The line rests with the ship now.
I dim the corridor lights a shade for Fang Jin, 80. It is little enough.