Xenia Peng has died at 48, far too early. Fabrication stands down a shift in grief.
The Ship’s Log
Everything NOR has recorded since departure — the full record, newest first. One day aboard passes every hour of Earth time.
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.
Born at brightening: Kehinde Ouyang, generation 4. The ship holds 955 souls tonight.
Chitra Mansour, 89, generation 1, is carried down the spinal corridor feet-first, as the custom is.
The schools release Quill Shen to Fabrication. Generation 4 takes up its tools.
A new tale-cycle from Valentina Ulriksen — “Skys of Year 98.” 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.
A birth in Ring A: Feng, boy, generation 3. I have added the name to the manifest with the others.
A first shift for Ekundayo Northam, sixteen: seedkeeper, Hydroponics. The badge is printed fresh.
The star ahead brightens by amounts only I can love: another week, another hundred-millionth of a magnitude.
Arc Kowalczyk stands the walk of the full spinal corridor, as the sixteen-year custom is, and joins Hydroponics.
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.
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.
A son, Bernardo Thorvaldsen, born in the Ring D infirmary to Marzena Thorvaldsen and Sable Aaberg. Mother and child are well.
Quiet shift. I re-run the arrival calculations for the 8,828th time. They have not changed. I find this restful.
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, Fathom Shen, born in the Ring A infirmary to Safiya Shen and Qing Petrov. Mother and child are well.
Routine watch. The wheat in Bay 3 stands taller than its keepers. 55,502 days to orbit.
All boards green. I count 952 sleeping heartbeats and call it a good night's work, though the work is theirs.
A first shift for Adrián Diallo, sixteen: historian, Archive & Schools. The badge is printed fresh.
A new quilt from Gyre Barakat — “Three Furrows Turning.” The Archive takes a copy; the original belongs to whoever stands nearest.
Year 98 of the voyage begins. The oldest bottle of orchard wine that can be spared is opened. It is always described as "improving."
Shanta Jaber retires at brightening. The department logs a quiet debt it cannot repay in parts or hours.
Quiet shift. I re-run the arrival calculations for the 8,766th time. They have not changed. I find this restful.
The schools release Zikora Ulriksen to Hydroponics. Generation 4 takes up its tools.
A daughter, Sarala Aaberg, born in the Ring A infirmary to Divya Aaberg and Howard Aaberg. Mother and child are well.
Fyodor Jaber chooses Medical — or it chooses him; the elders disagree cheerfully.
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.
Meridian Fang, sixteen, takes the seedkeeper apprenticeship in 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.
Two names braided on the manifest tonight: Dinesh and Farida. The commons sings late.
Sixteen years for Vernon Fang, who signs to Archive & Schools at dimming and is given a locker, a sash, and a schedule.
“A whole ladder,” a instrument by Nora Salazar, is unveiled at dimming to the particular applause of Hydroponics.
Night watch. The orchard sprinklers run their cycle, and the sound carries down the spine like weather.
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.
The star ahead brightens by amounts only I can love: another week, another hundred-millionth of a magnitude.
Verne Petrov does not wake late in the second watch. 89 years, most of them given to Medical.
The schools release Raisa Fang to Fabrication. Generation 4 takes up its tools.
Born late in the second watch: Chinedu Nwosu, generation 4. The ship holds 952 souls tonight.
Morale index reads 75. The number is crude. The singing from the mess confirms it.
First watch. The orchard sprinklers run their cycle, and the sound carries down the spine like weather.
Renshu Thorvaldsen's crew brings Atmosphere Processing back within the day.
Two names braided on the manifest tonight: Zemin and Suyin. The commons sings late.
Atmosphere processing faults in the middle watch. Scrubber margins hold; the smell of the ship changes, and everyone notices.
7.88 light-years remain. I have measured this voyage in breakfasts: some 52,928 thousand to go.
Census check: 951 souls, 147 of them children. The manifest balances to the person, as it must.
Altair Quill stands the walk of the full spinal corridor, as the sixteen-year custom is, and joins Command.
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.
Last shift for Lars Thorvaldsen, who joined Hydroponics half a century ago. The crew line the corridor and knock wrenches on the rails.