The hull ticks as it cools into the long night. Year 118, and I still log it faithfully: ticking, nominal.
The Ship’s Log
Everything NOR has recorded since departure — the full record, newest first. One day aboard passes every hour of Earth time.
CO₂ trim goes ragged as a processor bank fails. Life Systems is on it before I finish the announcement.
Widad Fang chooses Drive — or it chooses her; the elders disagree cheerfully.
Routine watch. The wheat in Bay 3 stands taller than its keepers. 47,959 days to orbit.
The schools release Chunhua Sharma to Life Systems. Generation 4 takes up its tools.
Sixty-eight years: Aisha Pillai hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring C stands ready.
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.
Last shift for Fernanda Mazur, who joined Life Systems half a century ago. The crew line the corridor and knock wrenches on the rails.
All boards green. I count 958 sleeping heartbeats and call it a good night's work, though the work is theirs.
Census check: 958 souls, 96 of them children. The manifest balances to the person, as it must.
Guiying Petrov stands down from Life Systems at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
The hull ticks as it cools into the long night. Year 118, and I still log it faithfully: ticking, nominal.
After 80 years, Ayodele Nwosu has let go. Remembrance in the Ring D commons at next dimming.
Fang Jaber retires on the night watch. The department logs a quiet debt it cannot repay in parts or hours.
Arc Pillai's crew brings Water Reclamation back after 1 weeks.
The star ahead brightens by amounts only I can love: another week, another hundred-millionth of a magnitude.
Ikenna Zhao finishes a tale-cycle: “Borrowed Water (Year 118).” It shows in the commons through the week.
Morale index reads 71. The number is crude. The singing from the mess confirms it.
Water Reclamation faults at brightening. Life Systems takes the call.
Quiet shift. I re-run the arrival calculations for the 7,265th time. They have not changed. I find this restful.
Emilio Barakat, 83, generation 2, is carried down the spinal corridor feet-first, as the custom is.
Sixteen years for Yusheng Quill, who signs to Fabrication in the middle watch and is given a locker, a sash, and a schedule.
Census check: 960 souls, 97 of them children. The manifest balances to the person, as it must.
Caelum Sharma stands down from Medical at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
Last shift for Daisy Sharma, who joined Archive & Schools half a century ago. The crew line the corridor and knock wrenches on the rails.
Sixty-eight years: Zbigniew Pemberton hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring A stands ready.
A daughter, Gyre Valdivia, born in the Ring C infirmary to Peizhi Valdivia and Zikora Ulriksen. Mother and child are well.
The schools release Clara Ouyang to Life Systems. Generation 4 takes up its tools.
Ghada Petrov died in quarters in the middle watch, 60 years old, once water systems tech. 959 souls aboard.
Carmen Valdivia died in quarters at brightening, 78 years old. 960 souls aboard.
Anastasia Shen chooses Drive — or it chooses her; the elders disagree cheerfully.
Sixteen years for Frederick Tväten, who signs to Life Systems on the night watch and is given a locker, a sash, and a schedule.
Routine watch. The wheat in Bay 3 stands taller than its keepers. 48,099 days to orbit.
Pranav Fang stands the walk of the full spinal corridor, as the sixteen-year custom is, and joins Fabrication.
Sixty-eight years: Arc Jaber hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring C stands ready.
6.65 light-years remain. I have measured this voyage in breakfasts: some 46,228 thousand to go.
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.
Esperanza Singh retires on the first watch. The department logs a quiet debt it cannot repay in parts or hours.
First Light. The observation blister queues run all day: Teegarden's Star, held in the eyepiece, a little brighter than last year — 6.65 light-years to go.
Emeka Yan has made a tale-cycle called “A standing corridor.” Asked what it means, he says it means about nine years of evenings.
Lucía Fang stands down from Fabrication at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
I dim the corridor lights a shade for Octavio Pillai, 72. It is little enough.
Morale index reads 72. The number is crude. The singing from the mess confirms it.
The youngest aboard is now Iris Thorvaldsen, minutes old, asleep. 962 souls.
Cristóbal Thorvaldsen died in quarters at dimming, 71 years old. 961 souls aboard.
Morale index reads 72. The number is crude. The singing from the mess confirms it.
Night watch. The orchard sprinklers run their cycle, and the sound carries down the spine like weather.
The manifest shortens by one: Nanna Ouyang, 84 years. 4 children carry the line on.
The hull ticks as it cools into the long night. Year 118, and I still log it faithfully: ticking, nominal.
Anton Shen retires at dimming. The department logs a quiet debt it cannot repay in parts or hours.