The schools release Ebba Aaberg to Life Systems. Generation 2 takes up its tools.
The Ship’s Log
Everything NOR has recorded since departure — the full record, newest first. One day aboard passes every hour of Earth time.
Quiet shift. I re-run the arrival calculations for the 810th time. They have not changed. I find this restful.
I dim the corridor lights a shade for Edmund Eastwood, 92. It is little enough.
The manifest shortens by one: Padma Pillai, 88 years. The line rests with the ship now.
I dim the corridor lights a shade for Enlai Ouyang, 81. It is little enough.
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 dim the corridor lights a shade for Tarun Trivedi, 69. It is little enough.
A birth in Ring C: Howard, boy, generation 2. I have added the name to the manifest with the others.
Theodore Ulriksen, sixteen, takes the quartermaster apprenticeship in Command.
All boards green. I count 794 sleeping heartbeats and call it a good night's work, though the work is theirs.
The youngest aboard is now Stanley Orellana, minutes old, asleep. 794 souls.
After 88 years, Lärä Ekwueme has let go. Remembrance in the Ring B commons at next dimming.
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 manifest shortens by one: Ylva Bergstrom, 94 years. The line rests with the ship now.
After 86 years, Oddny Kjellberg has let go. Remembrance in the Ring B commons at next dimming.
A birth in Ring D: Mariam, girl, generation 2. I have added the name to the manifest with the others.
Born late in the second watch: Zbigniew Fang, generation 2. The ship holds 795 souls tonight.
The star ahead brightens by amounts only I can love: another week, another hundred-millionth of a magnitude.
First Light. The observation blister queues run all day: Teegarden's Star, held in the eyepiece, a little brighter than last year — 10.64 light-years to go.
Quiet shift. I re-run the arrival calculations for the 732th time. They have not changed. I find this restful.
The youngest aboard is now Lev Peng, minutes old, asleep. 794 souls.
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.
The youngest aboard is now Theodore Thorvaldsen, minutes old, asleep. 793 souls.
The hull ticks as it cools into the long night. Year 51, and I still log it faithfully: ticking, nominal.
The manifest shortens by one: Arthur Aldous, 83 years. The line rests with the ship now.
The star ahead brightens by amounts only I can love: another week, another hundred-millionth of a magnitude.
The manifest shortens by one: Samira Darwish, 96 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.
10.64 light-years remain. I have measured this voyage in breakfasts: some 57,650 thousand to go.
10.64 light-years remain. I have measured this voyage in breakfasts: some 57,659 thousand to go.
After 98 years, Kiran Singh has let go. Remembrance in the Ring D commons at next dimming.
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.
Census check: 795 souls, 178 of them children. The manifest balances to the person, as it must.
Two names braided on the manifest tonight: Pallas and Josefina. The commons sings late.
Ravindra Ouyang chooses Ecology — or it chooses him; the elders disagree cheerfully.
Vernon Kong chooses Life Systems — or it chooses him; the elders disagree cheerfully.
10.65 light-years remain. I have measured this voyage in breakfasts: some 57,750 thousand to go.
Census check: 795 souls, 180 of them children. The manifest balances to the person, as it must.
Bernard Ashworth stands the walk of the full spinal corridor, as the sixteen-year custom is, and joins Life Systems.
Nandini Joshi does not wake on the night watch. 97 years, most of them given to Command.
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 birth in Ring A: Keel, girl, generation 3. I have added the name to the manifest with the others.
Bhavana Nwosu recovers a corrupted Earth archive block: forty minutes of a rainstorm, recorded through an open window. It plays in the commons on a loop.
The youngest aboard is now Tatiana Merriweather, minutes old, asleep. 795 souls.
Sixteen years for Frederick Valdivia, who signs to Ecology in the middle watch and is given a locker, a sash, and a schedule.
All boards green. I count 794 sleeping heartbeats and call it a good night's work, though the work is theirs.
Census check: 794 souls, 180 of them children. The manifest balances to the person, as it must.
I dim the corridor lights a shade for Raisa Gorbachev, 70. It is little enough.
Night watch. The orchard sprinklers run their cycle, and the sound carries down the spine like weather.
Anjali Chatterjee, 71, generation 0, is carried down the spinal corridor feet-first, as the custom is.