Huifen Ouyang is delivered of a daughter on the first watch. The child is called Jamila.
The Ship’s Log
Everything NOR has recorded since departure — the full record, newest first. One day aboard passes every hour of Earth time.
Green across the board: NOR Compute Core holds after 1 weeks of work. Spares were spent; Fabrication is notified.
NOR Compute Core faults on the first watch. Archive & Schools takes the call.
The hull ticks as it cools into the long night. Year 7, and I still log it faithfully: ticking, nominal.
Padma Pillai and Feng Xie are joined under the orchard lamps. The whole of Fabrication turns out.
Morale index reads 87. The number is crude. The singing from the mess confirms it.
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.
Morale index reads 88. The number is crude. The singing from the mess confirms it.
“Sunless Sky (Year 7),” a play by Yuri Dubrovsky, is unveiled on the night watch to the particular applause of Hydroponics.
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 child in Ring B asks the corridor speaker what Earth smelled like. I play the rainstorm recording. It is the best answer I have.
Morale index reads 88. The number is crude. The singing from the mess confirms it.
All boards green. I count 1033 sleeping heartbeats and call it a good night's work, though the work is theirs.
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.
Year 7 of the voyage begins. The oldest bottle of orchard wine that can be spared is opened. It is always described as "improving."
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 new tale-cycle from Oksana Yakovlev — “Furrows of Ring A.” The Archive takes a copy; the original belongs to whoever stands nearest.
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.
All boards green. I count 1033 sleeping heartbeats and call it a good night's work, though the work is theirs.
All boards green. I count 1033 sleeping heartbeats and call it a good night's work, though the work is theirs.
Bogdan Vasiliev finishes a tale-cycle: “What the Bell Holds.” It shows in the commons through the week.
A wedding at brightening. Femi Ndiaye, Archive & Schools; Kamala Singh, Life Systems. The ship approves in its way: the lights held steady throughout.
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.
A son, Khalid Jaber, born in the Ring C infirmary to Zahra Jaber and Evgeni Orlov. Mother and child are well.
Florence Langford takes the hand of Ibrahim Sarraf before the assembled watch. I witness, as I witness everything.
“Nine Engines Rising,” a mural by Dolores Hidalgo, is unveiled late in the second watch to the particular applause of Life Systems.
“A spun hymn,” a poem by Anjali Chatterjee, is unveiled at dimming to the particular applause of Command.
All boards green. I count 1032 sleeping heartbeats and call it a good night's work, though the work is theirs.
“The Sunless Signal,” a poem by Ludmila Mazur, is unveiled at dimming to the particular applause of Command.
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.
Kehinde Quaye and Ulf Haugen name their daughter Qiaoyun. The nursery lamps stay warm.
Pavel Ivanova and Yelena Zielinski, joined. Their quarters are re-assigned adjoining, per custom.
“Gardens of the commons,” a instrument by Ulises Cárdenas, is unveiled at brightening to the particular applause of Drive.
The star ahead brightens by amounts only I can love: another week, another hundred-millionth of a magnitude.
A daughter, Yelena Valdivia, born in the Ring B infirmary to Valentina Valdivia and Lars Nystrom. Mother and child are well.
12.47 light-years remain. I have measured this voyage in breakfasts: some 91,609 thousand to go.
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.
Viggo Paulsen has made a quilt called “Warm Root, Unlit Orchard.” Asked what it means, he says it means about nine years of evenings.
Octavio Figueroa has made a song called “What the Engine Forgets.” Asked what it means, he says it means about nine years of evenings.
Quiet shift. I re-run the arrival calculations for the 2,358th time. They have not changed. I find this restful.
Atmosphere Processing back in service. The old hands say it sounds better than before; the instruments say it sounds the same.
A wedding in the middle watch. Sundiata Fashola, Archive & Schools; Edith Hartley, Fabrication. The ship approves in its way: the lights held steady throughout.
Two names braided on the manifest tonight: Gonzalo and Yueqin. The commons sings late.
Atmosphere processing faults late in the second watch. Scrubber margins hold; the smell of the ship changes, and everyone notices.
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.
A joining in Ring C: Theodore Eastwood and Adaeze Kamau. The pressing of cider is authorized.
First Light festival. The children are lifted to the eyepiece one by one to see where they are going.
Chiamaka Ndiaye and Alejandro Delgado are joined under the orchard lamps. The whole of Fabrication turns out.
A birth in Ring D: Kayode, boy, generation 1. I have added the name to the manifest with the others.
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.