“The Whole Map,” a song by Fern Diallo, is unveiled on the night watch to the particular applause of Archive & Schools.
The Ship’s Log
Everything NOR has recorded since departure — the full record, newest first. One day aboard passes every hour of Earth time.
All boards green. I count 901 sleeping heartbeats and call it a good night's work, though the work is theirs.
Devendra Kong and Eleanor Barakat are joined under the orchard lamps. The whole of Archive & Schools turns out.
Census check: 901 souls, 199 of them children. The manifest balances to the person, as it must.
Lucía Aaberg does not wake on the first watch. 59 years, most of them given to Ecology.
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.
Morale index reads 73. The number is crude. The singing from the mess confirms it.
Maja Fang retires in the middle watch. The department logs a quiet debt it cannot repay in parts or hours.
Sixteen years for Cora Quill, who signs to Medical at brightening and is given a locker, a sash, and a schedule.
A birth in Ring D: Orrery, boy, generation 4. I have added the name to the manifest with the others.
I dim the corridor lights a shade for Rocío Ning, 69. It is little enough.
The schools release Ikenna Zhao to Hydroponics. Generation 3 takes up its tools.
Mahmoud Pemberton died in quarters at dimming, 85 years old. 902 souls aboard.
Lumen Nwosu finishes a poem: “Nine Wheels Standing.” It shows in the commons through the week.
A first shift for Kofi Tväten, sixteen: sanitation engineer, Life Systems. The badge is printed fresh.
Sixteen years for Pearl Petrov, who signs to Hydroponics on the first watch and is given a locker, a sash, and a schedule.
The star ahead brightens by amounts only I can love: another week, another hundred-millionth of a magnitude.
The youngest aboard is now Rosario Fang, minutes old, asleep. 903 souls.
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.
The schools release Bjorn Nwosu to Medical. Generation 4 takes up its tools.
Census check: 902 souls, 202 of them children. The manifest balances to the person, as it must.
Quiet shift. I re-run the arrival calculations for the 5,628th time. They have not changed. I find this restful.
Routine watch. The wheat in Bay 3 stands taller than its keepers. 58,691 days to orbit.
Albert Nwosu takes the hand of Josefina Barakat before the assembled watch. I witness, as I witness everything.
Reactor back in service. The old hands say it sounds better than before; the instruments say it sounds the same.
First Light. The observation blister queues run all day: Teegarden's Star, held in the eyepiece, a little brighter than last year — 8.38 light-years to go.
The hull ticks as it cools into the long night. Year 89, and I still log it faithfully: ticking, nominal.
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.
Gunhild Jaber chooses Hydroponics — or it chooses her; the elders disagree cheerfully.
The lights thin shipwide. In the commons, someone starts the old game of naming constellations on the ceiling. Morale does what it does.
Signe Valdivia and Bohai Singh name their daughter Peizhi. The nursery lamps stay warm.
Zaid Ouyang chooses Fabrication — or it chooses him; the elders disagree cheerfully.
We could not reach Georgia Thorvaldsen in time. 22 years, Drive. The lamps are lowered a full watch.
The compartment is sealed and the name is read: Agnieszka Petrov, 40. The ship holds 901.
Scram on the reactor at dimming. Emergency batteries carry the ring lights while Drive works the restart list.
A first shift for Teegarden Barakat, sixteen: plasma systems tech, Drive. The badge is printed fresh.
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 schools release Vera Tväten to Fabrication. Generation 3 takes up its tools.
A first shift for Deneb Zhao, sixteen: hullwright, Fabrication. The badge is printed fresh.
Chinedu Valdivia, sixteen, takes the historian apprenticeship in Archive & Schools.
“Whole Orchard (Year 89),” a tale-cycle by Jiayi Ning, is unveiled at dimming to the particular applause of Hydroponics.
8.39 light-years remain. I have measured this voyage in breakfasts: some 53,058 thousand to go.
The youngest aboard is now Guowei Tväten, minutes old, asleep. 903 souls.
Morale index reads 78. The number is crude. The singing from the mess confirms it.
Morale index reads 78. The number is crude. The singing from the mess confirms it.
The star ahead brightens by amounts only I can love: another week, another hundred-millionth of a magnitude.
Nicolás Zhao chooses Medical — or it chooses him; the elders disagree cheerfully.
The hull ticks as it cools into the long night. Year 89, and I still log it faithfully: ticking, nominal.
Repair complete on Thermal Control after 3 weeks. I run the test cycle twice, out of respect for history.
Routine watch. The wheat in Bay 3 stands taller than its keepers. 58,777 days to orbit.