A joining in Ring B: Halvard Yan and Josefina Tväten. The pressing of cider is authorized.
The Ship’s Log
Everything NOR has recorded since departure — the full record, newest first. One day aboard passes every hour of Earth time.
Fault isolated in NOR Compute Core. Repair estimate: unwise to say aloud.
The fever breaks shipwide. The cost is counted plainly: 1 name for the wall. The schools reopen at brightening.
The sickness holds its grip. Wards full, schools closed, meals delivered by runner. The ship wears masks and patience.
Feng Northam and Irina Peng are joined under the orchard lamps. The whole of Archive & Schools turns out.
The sickness holds its grip. Wards full, schools closed, meals delivered by runner. The ship wears masks and patience.
Gopal Ouyang has made a song called “Three Corridors Standing.” Asked what it means, he says it means about nine years of evenings.
Last shift for Natalya Quill, who joined Fabrication half a century ago. The crew line the corridor and knock wrenches on the rails.
The sickness holds its grip. Wards full, schools closed, meals delivered by runner. The ship wears masks and patience.
A son, Chengdong Jaber, born in the Ring D infirmary to Daisy Jaber and Howard Jaber. Mother and child are well.
The sickness holds its grip. Wards full, schools closed, meals delivered by runner. The ship wears masks and patience.
I dim the corridor lights a shade for Dolores Zhao, 79. It is little enough.
All boards green. I count 967 sleeping heartbeats and call it a good night's work, though the work is theirs.
Another week of the fever. Medical rotates exhausted; volunteers take the laundry runs. The rails are wiped twice a watch.
A new instrument from Anand Ulriksen — “Doors of Year 116.” The Archive takes a copy; the original belongs to whoever stands nearest.
A first shift for Knut Aaberg, sixteen: librarian, Archive & Schools. The badge is printed fresh.
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.
Another week of the fever. Medical rotates exhausted; volunteers take the laundry runs. The rails are wiped twice a watch.
The sickness takes Huifen Ulriksen, 77. Medical logs the name; I keep it also, in my own way.
Another week of the fever. Medical rotates exhausted; volunteers take the laundry runs. The rails are wiped twice a watch.
The sickness holds its grip. Wards full, schools closed, meals delivered by runner. The ship wears masks and patience.
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.
The sickness holds its grip. Wards full, schools closed, meals delivered by runner. The ship wears masks and patience.
Milena Kowalczyk has made a mural called “Kept Map, Bright Window.” Asked what it means, she says it means about nine years of evenings.
Night watch. The orchard sprinklers run their cycle, and the sound carries down the spine like weather.
The sickness holds its grip. Wards full, schools closed, meals delivered by runner. The ship wears masks and patience.
Another week of the fever. Medical rotates exhausted; volunteers take the laundry runs. The rails are wiped twice a watch.
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 sickness holds its grip. Wards full, schools closed, meals delivered by runner. The ship wears masks and patience.
Raymond Fang and Rania Ulriksen, joined. Their quarters are re-assigned adjoining, per custom.
Dolores Thorvaldsen stands down from Ecology at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
The sickness holds its grip. Wards full, schools closed, meals delivered by runner. The ship wears masks and patience.
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.
Medical reports a fever moving through the rings — the same story in three infirmaries by dimming. Isolation protocols stand up within the hour.
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.
Sixty-eight years: Bohai Singh hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring D stands ready.
César Fang retires at dimming. The department logs a quiet debt it cannot repay in parts or hours.
Efua Jaber has died at 50, far too early. Ecology stands down a shift in grief.
Sarala Peng stands down from Hydroponics at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
First Light. The observation blister queues run all day: Teegarden's Star, held in the eyepiece, a little brighter than last year — 6.77 light-years to go.
After 98 years, César Bishara has let go. Remembrance in the Ring D commons at next dimming.
Middle watch. The orchard sprinklers run their cycle, and the sound carries down the spine like weather.
Quill Shen retires on the first watch. The department logs a quiet debt it cannot repay in parts or hours.
A first shift for Drift Barakat, sixteen: machinist, Fabrication. The badge is printed fresh.
Temitope Mansour retires at brightening. The department logs a quiet debt it cannot repay in parts or hours.
Sixteen years for Nicolás Sharma, who signs to Life Systems at brightening and is given a locker, a sash, and a schedule.
A birth in Ring D: Signe, girl, generation 5. I have added the name to the manifest with the others.
Noor Shen stands the walk of the full spinal corridor, as the sixteen-year custom is, and joins Medical.
The hull ticks as it cools into the long night. Year 116, and I still log it faithfully: ticking, nominal.
A joining in Ring B: Cygnet Jaber and Cora Orellana. The pressing of cider is authorized.