After 90 years, Tao Ogunleye has let go. Remembrance in the Ring B commons at next dimming.
The Ship’s Log
Everything NOR has recorded since departure — the full record, newest first. One day aboard passes every hour of Earth time.
Wei Shen takes the hand of Vasanti Sharma before the assembled watch. I witness, as I witness everything.
Remembrance day. The memorial wall is polished by hand, though nothing aboard needs polishing less.
Enlai Fang takes the hand of Layla Ouyang before the assembled watch. I witness, as I witness everything.
Xenia Ulriksen and Femi Petrov name their son Pallas. The nursery lamps stay warm.
Quiet shift. I re-run the arrival calculations for the 2,247th time. They have not changed. I find this restful.
7.46 light-years remain. I have measured this voyage in breakfasts: some 51,527 thousand to go.
Ion Petrov stands the walk of the full spinal corridor, as the sixteen-year custom is, and joins Life Systems.
A new play from Ikenna Ning — “Inward Engine, Inward Lantern.” The Archive takes a copy; the original belongs to whoever stands nearest.
Ruolan Nwosu and Liang Valdivia name their son Zbigniew. The nursery lamps stay warm.
Stanley Fossum, 79, generation 2, is carried down the spinal corridor feet-first, as the custom is.
The hull ticks as it cools into the long night. Year 104, and I still log it faithfully: ticking, nominal.
The schools release Jamal Merriweather to Fabrication. Generation 3 takes up its tools.
Douglas Navarrete chooses Drive — or it chooses him; the elders disagree cheerfully.
The star ahead brightens by amounts only I can love: another week, another hundred-millionth of a magnitude.
Last shift for Anastasia Ouyang, who joined Ecology half a century ago. The crew line the corridor and knock wrenches on the rails.
Two names braided on the manifest tonight: Orrery and Vera. The commons sings late.
7.47 light-years remain. I have measured this voyage in breakfasts: some 51,576 thousand to go.
Morale index reads 81. The number is crude. The singing from the mess confirms it.
Routine watch. The wheat in Bay 3 stands taller than its keepers. 53,118 days to orbit.
7.47 light-years remain. I have measured this voyage in breakfasts: some 51,581 thousand to go.
Sixteen years for Safiya Jaber, who signs to Medical in the middle watch and is given a locker, a sash, and a schedule.
Percy Escamilla, 97, generation 1, is carried down the spinal corridor feet-first, as the custom is.
Rell Barakat retires in the middle watch. The department logs a quiet debt it cannot repay in parts or hours.
Dolores Valdivia stands down from Hydroponics at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
Wenling Valdivia retires on the night watch. The department logs a quiet debt it cannot repay in parts or hours.
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.
“Five Doors Rising,” a song by Tern Aaberg, is unveiled on the first watch to the particular applause of Archive & Schools.
A wedding in the middle watch. Tunde Nwosu, Drive; Guiying Nwosu, Drive. The ship approves in its way: the lights held steady throughout.
The star ahead brightens by amounts only I can love: another week, another hundred-millionth of a magnitude.
Two names braided on the manifest tonight: Zemin and Edith. The commons sings late.
7.48 light-years remain. I have measured this voyage in breakfasts: some 51,704 thousand to go.
The star ahead brightens by amounts only I can love: another week, another hundred-millionth of a magnitude.
A birth in Ring A: Samira, girl, generation 4. I have added the name to the manifest with the others.
Johanna Pillai retires at dimming. The department logs a quiet debt it cannot repay in parts or hours.
Sixteen years for Radomir Thorvaldsen, who signs to Life Systems on the night watch and is given a locker, a sash, and a schedule.
Emilio Ulriksen, sixteen, takes the water systems tech apprenticeship in Life Systems.
First Light. The observation blister queues run all day: Teegarden's Star, held in the eyepiece, a little brighter than last year — 7.48 light-years to go.
All boards green. I count 971 sleeping heartbeats and call it a good night's work, though the work is theirs.
A son, Adrián Merriweather, born in the Ring C infirmary to Edith Merriweather and Safiya Peng. Mother and child are well.
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.
Howard Thorvaldsen, 65, generation 2, is carried down the spinal corridor feet-first, as the custom is.
Kayode Pillai stands down from Medical at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
Routine watch. The wheat in Bay 3 stands taller than its keepers. 53,279 days to orbit.
7.49 light-years remain. I have measured this voyage in breakfasts: some 51,740 thousand to go.
7.49 light-years remain. I have measured this voyage in breakfasts: some 51,742 thousand to go.
Morale index reads 81. 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.
Teodoro Mansour takes the hand of Edmund Pemberton before the assembled watch. I witness, as I witness everything.
Yaw Jaber works out a tougher print alloy from recycler feedstock. Fabrication adopts it the same week.