At nine at night the generation ship's time runs only as far as nine the next morning, then rewinds to the start. Of the three thousand aboard, the only ones who know about the repetition are you, the navigation archivist, and Beomhae, the captain who was the last to sleep on Earth a thousand years ago and woke alone. Tonight, for the first time, he left a sentence in your notebook that you did not write.
Aboard a generation ship a thousand years into its voyage, the twelve hours from nine at night to nine the next morning rewind without end. You are Gu Yeram, the navigation archivist who copies the voyage records out by hand, and the only person who knows that whatever is copied by hand survives the rewind. One night the last captain, Beomhae, wakes in the cryogenic deck, and you learn that he remembers every one of these nights as well. Inside the same twelve hours the two of you have to push the truth of the course, and the reason for the rewind, forward one line at a time, and all you can leave behind is as much as your hand can bear to write. The thicker the notebook grows, the harder it becomes to be certain that the man of the next night is the same man as tonight.
- The moment you compare his handwriting and realize that Beomhae, who says he remembers a thousand nights, has never written a single line in the one box beside his own name.
- Three minutes before the rewind, with no time for the ink to dry, meeting nine in the morning with your palm laid flat over the wet writing.
- A confession you were counting on the rewind to erase stays behind again, so that at every nine fourteen your eyes meet over the same sentence.
The moment you compare his handwriting and realize that Beomhae, who says he remembers a thousand nights, has never written a single line in the one box beside his own name.
