The star ahead brightens by amounts only I can love: another week, another hundred-millionth of a magnitude.
The Ship’s Log
Everything NOR has recorded since departure — the full record, newest first. One day aboard passes every hour of Earth time.
Ragnhild Halvorsen died in quarters at brightening, 85 years old. 749 souls aboard.
I dim the corridor lights a shade for Tessa Underhill, 96. It is little enough.
10.44 light-years remain. I have measured this voyage in breakfasts: some 53,592 thousand to go.
After 97 years, Nneka Nwosu has let go. Remembrance in the Ring C commons at next dimming.
Amir Aaberg chooses Ecology — or it chooses him; the elders disagree cheerfully.
Night watch. The orchard sprinklers run their cycle, and the sound carries down the spine like weather.
Morale index reads 69. The number is crude. The singing from the mess confirms it.
Lucía Aaberg takes the hand of Chengdong Jaber before the assembled watch. I witness, as I witness everything.
Mabel Mazur and Gilbert Fairburn name their son Viggo. The nursery lamps stay warm.
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.
Jamila Navarrete is delivered of a son on the first watch. The child is called Ravindra.
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.
Dinesh Merriweather, sixteen, takes the nurse apprenticeship in Medical.
The schools release Ayodele Nwosu to Fabrication. Generation 2 takes up its tools.
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 manifest shortens by one: Alice Northam, 96 years. The line rests with the ship now.
Zbigniew Zaitsev, 85, generation 0, is carried down the spinal corridor feet-first, as the custom is.
Born at dimming: Stanley Navarrete, generation 3. The ship holds 752 souls tonight.
A wedding on the first watch. Winifred Quaye, Life Systems; Pallas Navarrete, Drive. The ship approves in its way: the lights held steady throughout.
After 83 years, Mahmoud Zayed has let go. Remembrance in the Ring A commons at next dimming.
Dominika Thorvaldsen and Halvard Nwosu name their son Halvard. The nursery lamps stay warm.
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.
Mohan Kapoor does not wake on the first watch. 93 years, most of them given to Hydroponics.
Gilbert Quaye stands the walk of the full spinal corridor, as the sixteen-year custom is, and joins Medical.
The schools release Sten Quill to Medical. Generation 2 takes up its tools.
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.
Naresh Banerjee, 97, generation 0, is carried down the spinal corridor feet-first, as the custom is.
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.
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 manifest shortens by one: Jianguo Peng, 81 years. The line rests with the ship now.
Iveta Aaberg takes the hand of Uzoma Pillai before the assembled watch. I witness, as I witness everything.
I dim the corridor lights a shade for Dalia El-Amin, 86. It is little enough.
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.
A son, Adnan Shen, born in the Ring B infirmary to Natalya Shen and Stanley Fossum. Mother and child are well.
The star ahead brightens by amounts only I can love: another week, another hundred-millionth of a magnitude.
The manifest shortens by one: Irina Babich, 79 years. The line rests with the ship now.
Boreal Tväten stands the walk of the full spinal corridor, as the sixteen-year custom is, and joins Fabrication.
First Light. The observation blister queues run all day: Teegarden's Star, held in the eyepiece, a little brighter than last year — 10.46 light-years to go.
All boards green. I count 755 sleeping heartbeats and call it a good night's work, though the work is theirs.
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.
Rajesh Bhatt died in quarters on the first watch, 86 years old. 755 souls aboard.
Quiet shift. I re-run the arrival calculations for the 1,824th time. They have not changed. I find this restful.
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.
Harriet Ellery, 99, generation 0, is carried down the spinal corridor feet-first, as the custom is.
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.
Erik Gundersen does not wake in the middle watch. 80 years, most of them given to Life Systems.
Efua Thorvaldsen is delivered of a daughter on the night watch. The child is called Dagny.
Wenbo Ning finishes a tale-cycle: “Spun Harvest, Sunless Sky.” It shows in the commons through the week.
The youngest aboard is now Uzoma Ning, minutes old, asleep. 757 souls.