A daughter, Fathom Fang, born in the Ring C infirmary to Shanta Fang and Fern Mazur. Mother and child are well.
The Ship’s Log
Everything NOR has recorded since departure — year 116, newest first. One day aboard passes every hour of Earth time.
Xenia Ulriksen and Femi Petrov name their daughter Wenling. The nursery lamps stay warm.
Hassan Ashworth stands down from Ecology at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
“Whole Field (Year 116),” a tale-cycle by Ebba Aaberg, is unveiled on the first watch to the particular applause of Life Systems.
Cristóbal Aaberg stands down from Archive & Schools at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
Lumen Jaber retires late in the second watch. The department logs a quiet debt it cannot repay in parts or hours.
Vikram Tväten takes the hand of Polina Jaber before the assembled watch. I witness, as I witness everything.
A child in Ring D asks the corridor speaker what Earth smelled like. I play the rainstorm recording. It is the best answer I have.
A joining in Ring A: Nikolai Zhao and Drift Barakat. The pressing of cider is authorized.
Fadi Navarrete stands the walk of the full spinal corridor, as the sixteen-year custom is, and joins Command.
NOR Compute Core restored after 3 weeks. Naresh Petrov signs the work order and goes to sleep for a full watch.
Remembrance day. The memorial wall is polished by hand, though nothing aboard needs polishing less.
Morale index reads 63. The number is crude. The singing from the mess contradicts it.
Census check: 966 souls, 96 of them children. The manifest balances to the person, as it must.
Sixty-eight years: Esha Fang hangs up the sash. An elder's quarters in Ring C stands ready.
Zahra Thorvaldsen does not wake at dimming. 60 years, most of them given to Drive.
First watch. The orchard sprinklers run their cycle, and the sound carries down the spine like weather.
Last shift for Olga Petrov, who joined Fabrication half a century ago. The crew line the corridor and knock wrenches on the rails.
Lakshman Tväten stands down from Fabrication at sixty-eight, to the orchard benches and the long game of stones.
The star ahead brightens by amounts only I can love: another week, another hundred-millionth of a magnitude.
Ulises Aaberg takes the hand of Farida Navarrete before the assembled watch. I witness, as I witness everything.
The star ahead brightens by amounts only I can love: another week, another hundred-millionth of a magnitude.
Opal Thorvaldsen stands the walk of the full spinal corridor, as the sixteen-year custom is, and joins Archive & Schools.
A joining in Ring B: Halvard Yan and Josefina Tväten. The pressing of cider is authorized.
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.