NOR Compute Core goes down. I reroute what can be rerouted and wake who must be woken.
The Ship’s Log
Everything NOR has recorded since departure — the full record, newest first. One day aboard passes every hour of Earth time.
Sixty-eight years: Leonard Pemberton hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring A stands ready.
The manifest shortens by one: Nils Eriksen, 71 years. The line rests with the ship now.
The schools release Bhavana Nwosu to Hydroponics. Generation 2 takes up its tools.
Kirill Pavlenko, 75, generation 0, is carried down the spinal corridor feet-first, as the custom is.
11.09 light-years remain. I have measured this voyage in breakfasts: some 67,017 thousand to go.
Last shift for Oluwaseun Danjuma, who joined Archive & Schools half a century ago. The crew line the corridor and knock wrenches on the rails.
Sten Gundersen stands down from Command at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
A new tale-cycle from Fyodor Wisniewski — “A borrowed winter.” The Archive takes a copy; the original belongs to whoever stands nearest.
11.10 light-years remain. I have measured this voyage in breakfasts: some 67,025 thousand to go.
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.
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.
After 89 years, Fermín Herrera has let go. Remembrance in the Ring A commons at next dimming.
Edmund Vance times an occultation to refine our ephemeris. The course correction is smaller than a held breath.
Last shift for Nnamdi Chike, who joined Fabrication half a century ago. The crew line the corridor and knock wrenches on the rails.
Sixty-eight years: Vasanti Yadav hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring B stands ready.
Natalya Fedorenko stands down from Archive & Schools at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
After 83 years, Bernardo Cárdenas has let go. Remembrance in the Ring D commons at next dimming.
Ignacio Barrientos, 71, generation 0, is carried down the spinal corridor feet-first, as the custom is.
After 82 years, Ivar Ekelund has let go. Remembrance in the Ring A commons at next dimming.
Valentina Valdivia stands down from Drive at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
Last shift for Qasim Rahman, who joined Hydroponics half a century ago. The crew line the corridor and knock wrenches on the rails.
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.
I dim the corridor lights a shade for Zaid Mansour, 74. It is little enough.
I dim the corridor lights a shade for Edmund Carmody, 91. It is little enough.
Gonzalo Valdivia stands down from Medical at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
Gunhild Thorvaldsen is delivered of a son at brightening. The child is called Anders.
Sixty-eight years: Ramiro Guzmán hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring D 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.
A son, Sanjay Orellana, born in the Ring C infirmary to Vera Orellana and Ramiro Lockhart. Mother and child are well.
Karim Aswad stands down from Archive & Schools at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
After 91 years, Yash Reddy has let go. Remembrance in the Ring D commons at next dimming.
11.11 light-years remain. I have measured this voyage in breakfasts: some 67,484 thousand to go.
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.
Last shift for Fatima Khoury, who joined Archive & Schools half a century ago. The crew line the corridor and knock wrenches on the rails.
First Light. The observation blister queues run all day: Teegarden's Star, held in the eyepiece, a little brighter than last year — 11.11 light-years to go.
Routine watch. The wheat in Bay 3 stands taller than its keepers. 75,500 days to orbit.
Sixty-eight years: Nabil Rizk hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring B stands ready.
The youngest aboard is now Wei Mansour, minutes old, asleep. 894 souls.
Born at brightening: Cygnet Zhao, generation 2. The ship holds 893 souls tonight.
Night watch. The orchard sprinklers run their cycle, and the sound carries down the spine like weather.
A new tale-cycle from Josefina Riquelme — “Distant Wheel (Year 43).” The Archive takes a copy; the original belongs to whoever stands nearest.
Morale index reads 68. The number is crude. The singing from the mess confirms it.
Quiet shift. I re-run the arrival calculations for the 6,794th time. They have not changed. I find this restful.
Ludmila Ostrowski retires on the night watch. The department logs a quiet debt it cannot repay in parts or hours.
Paloma Nwosu and Omar Titov name their daughter Abena. The nursery lamps stay warm.
Sixty-eight years: Irina Babich hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring D stands ready.
The hull ticks as it cools into the long night. Year 43, and I still log it faithfully: ticking, nominal.
I dim the corridor lights a shade for Theodore Aldous, 75. It is little enough.