Census check: 965 souls, 129 of them children. The manifest balances to the person, as it must.
The Ship’s Log
Everything NOR has recorded since departure — year 101, newest first. One day aboard passes every hour of Earth time.
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.
Agnieszka Quaye stands down from Drive at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
A new tale-cycle from Arc Nwosu — “The Green Hymn.” The Archive takes a copy; the original belongs to whoever stands nearest.
A first shift for Xavier Thorvaldsen, 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.
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.
Green across the board: Atmosphere Processing holds after 2 weeks of work. Spares were spent; Fabrication is notified.
Sojourn Fang chooses Hydroponics — or it chooses him; the elders disagree cheerfully.
CO₂ trim goes ragged as a processor bank fails. Life Systems is on it before I finish the announcement.
Sixty-eight years: Drift Thorvaldsen hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring B stands ready.
Remembrance day. The memorial wall is polished by hand, though nothing aboard needs polishing less.
The hull ticks as it cools into the long night. Year 101, and I still log it faithfully: ticking, nominal.
Sixty-eight years: Chengdong Jaber hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring A stands ready.
A first shift for Leonard Barakat, sixteen: pollinator keeper, Ecology. The badge is printed fresh.
Liang Valdivia and Ruolan Nwosu are joined under the orchard lamps. The whole of Archive & Schools turns out.
Maintenance sweep of Ring A complete. Somewhere aft a wrench is missing; it will surface in a decade, in a wall, with a story attached.
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: Ifeoma Valdivia hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring B stands ready.
7.64 light-years remain. I have measured this voyage in breakfasts: some 52,298 thousand to go.
The fever breaks shipwide, and this time the wall gains no names. Medical sleeps for two days by rotation.
Another week of the fever. Medical rotates exhausted; volunteers take the laundry runs. The rails are wiped twice a watch.
Morale index reads 67. The number is crude. The singing from the mess confirms it.
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.
A new play from Harold Ashworth — “Signals of Bay 3.” The Archive takes a copy; the original belongs to whoever stands nearest.
The sickness holds its grip. Wards full, schools closed, meals delivered by runner. The ship wears masks and patience.
Middle watch. The orchard sprinklers run their cycle, and the sound carries down the spine like weather.
Anand Thorvaldsen chooses Drive — or it chooses him; the elders disagree cheerfully.
Dinesh Merriweather died in quarters at dimming, 63 years old, once nurse. 965 souls aboard.
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.
Edmund Ulriksen and Nadia Thorvaldsen, joined. Their quarters are re-assigned adjoining, per custom.
First 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.
Vega Nwosu stands down from Life Systems at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
A sickness declares itself: fever, cough, exhaustion. The wards fill; the corridors empty. We have done this before, the records remind me.
The center chair passes to Gilbert Sharma, 47, storytelling. I brief the new Captain until brightening.
Ylva Aaberg stands down from Command at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
7.65 light-years remain. I have measured this voyage in breakfasts: some 52,411 thousand to go.
Ulises Abiodun, 98, generation 1, is carried down the spinal corridor feet-first, as the custom is.
Routine watch. The wheat in Bay 3 stands taller than its keepers. 54,271 days to orbit.
Konstantin Nwosu and Catalina Nwosu, joined. Their quarters are re-assigned adjoining, per custom.
A joining in Ring A: Fernanda Ulriksen and Bassam Barakat. The pressing of cider is authorized.
Pearl Sharma stands the walk of the full spinal corridor, as the sixteen-year custom is, and joins Life Systems.
Altair Orellana retires at brightening. The department logs a quiet debt it cannot repay in parts or hours.
“Long Thread, Iron Wheel,” a quilt by Yaw Fang, is unveiled on the first watch to the particular applause of Drive.
Born on the night watch: Jorgen Thorvaldsen, generation 5. The ship holds 967 souls tonight.
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.
Last shift for Gunhild Petrov, who joined Ecology half a century ago. The crew line the corridor and knock wrenches on the rails.