When the alarm sounded in the corridor of Sector 3 aboard the generation ship Eunha, Jinwoo was sitting in the chair of the Calibration Room, looking into someone else's memories. What spread across the monitor was the biometric memory index of a 71-year-old woman. The recall pattern in her left-hemisphere hippocampal region deviated from the documented record by 0.3 percent. 0.3 was within the permitted range. Jinwoo pressed the "Suitable" button and opened the next file. The alarm was a ventilation valve malfunction in Sector 3. It stopped 5 minutes later. Only after the alarm stopped did Jinwoo realize he had been holding his breath. His palms were damp.
The Calibration Room was 40 meters from the generation ship's central axis. The artificial gravity produced by centrifugal force was 0.7 times normal. Pour a coffee and the liquid tilted faintly inward. Every morning Jinwoo drank this tilted coffee while verifying the passengers' Identity Continuity Scores. Identity Continuity Score. A figure synthesizing the match between biometric memory and documented record, the persistence of one's social network, and the continuity of the psychological profile. A score of 70.0 or higher qualified for the second-tier longevity treatment. 55.0 or higher, the first-tier basic treatment. Below 55.0, ineligible. The second-tier treatment extended one's biological lifespan by 40 years. The first-tier, by 15. Below 55.0 received nothing.
Jinwoo had worked as a Calibrator for 9 years. It was the 23rd year since the generation ship Eunha had left Earth. Twelve thousand people had boarded at departure, and the voyage remaining until the projected arrival was 47 years. The destination was the Gliese 667 C star system. A 70-year voyage. More than half the passengers were due to enter old age during the voyage, and those who could not reach the destination alive without longevity treatment numbered over 3,000. The distribution of longevity treatment was decided by the Identity Continuity Score. Those with high scores—that is, those with high consistency with themselves—were treated first.
2 p.m. An internal message appeared on Jinwoo's monitor. Sender: Administration Section 1. The content was short. "Calibrator Han Jinwoo. Required to report to the Administration Section 1 interview room by 18:00 today. Reason: notification of Identity Continuity Score recalculation." Jinwoo read the screen twice. Recalculation. A Calibrator was someone who verified other people's scores. This was the first time he had received notice that his own score would be recalculated. Jinwoo knew his current score. 74.2. Eligible for second-tier longevity treatment. A figure confirmed at the regular review 3 years ago. He remembered the reviewer saying then,
"It's stable."
Jinwoo processed the 3 remaining files and left the Calibration Room. The corridor curved gently along the ship's direction of rotation. As you walked, the ceiling in the distance looked like the floor, then became a wall again as you drew near. He had lived 23 years in this curved space. Jinwoo headed toward the interview room in Sector 5, thinking. What could the reason for recalculation be? Memory deviation? A shift in his network? Jinwoo's memory was stable. His wife Suhyeon and his son Hanbyeol lived in Sector 4. His son had been born on the ship. 7 years old this year. His network, too, had no changes.
When he opened the door of the interview room, two people were sitting inside. Section Chief Yun of Administration Section 1, and a woman Jinwoo didn't know. The woman introduced herself as belonging to Earth Communications Reception. Her name was Seoyeon. Section Chief Yun gestured to a seat. When Jinwoo sat, Yun pushed a paper cup aside on the desk and turned the monitor around. A document was on the screen. Red letters at the top: "Notice of Record Correction from Earth. Date received: Ship-year 23, day 142. Original date of dispatch: Earth-year March 8, 2051." This signal had departed Earth 12.4 light-years ago. It had flown at the speed of light for 12.4 years and arrived today.
Section Chief Yun spoke.
"A record correction has come from Earth."
Jinwoo looked at the screen. "Subject: Han Jinwoo. Birth record correction. Content of correction: change to the biological father information registered at birth. Previous: Han Taeho. Corrected: Park Sangmin. Reason for correction: administrative correction based on the result of a 2051 genetic paternity test." Jinwoo's gaze stopped. Han Taeho. His father's name. The father Jinwoo remembered. A tall man whose eyes narrowed when he smiled. The man who, at the airport before the ship's departure, had gripped Jinwoo's shoulder and said,
"Stay healthy."
The notice that this man was not his biological father had flown 12.4 years to reach him.
Jinwoo's mouth would not open. Seoyeon continued her explanation.
"It is part of the gene-based paternity verification program Earth has run since 2050. Where existing family-registry records and genetic information do not match, administrative corrections are being made. In your case, Mr. Han Jinwoo, the blood sample kept on Earth from your birth was found to be inconsistent with the genes of the registered biological father."
Jinwoo looked at Seoyeon.
"I boarded this ship 12 years ago. Whatever program Earth runs, what does it have to do with me?"
Seoyeon's gaze wavered for a moment. Section Chief Yun answered.
"Birth records are included in the criteria for calculating the Identity Continuity Score. When the biological father information changes, the family-relationship continuity item gets recalculated."
Jinwoo's hand gripped the arm of the chair.
"You're telling me that because a record was changed back on Earth, my score changes?"
Section Chief Yun nodded.
"Under generation ship regulations, administrative corrections from Earth take effect the moment they're received. With the birth record changed, the biological-father relationship in the family-relationship continuity item is processed as dissolved, and the relationship with the new biological father is registered—but we can't confirm the current status of this Park Sangmin. He's 12.4 light-years away. An unconfirmable relationship is scored as 0."
Seoyeon opened another tab on the monitor. Numbers came up. 'Family-relationship continuity: previous 78.6 → after correction 54.1. Overall score: previous 74.2 → after correction 64.8.' Jinwoo looked at the numbers. 64.8. 5.2 points below the second-round longevity treatment baseline of 70.0.
The sound of his pulse grew louder in Jinwoo's ears. His grip tightened on the arm of the chair. Jinwoo asked,
"And filing an objection?"
Section Chief Yun answered.
"An objection to an administrative correction from Earth has to be sent to Earth as a signal. That's 24.8 years round-trip."
24.8 years. Jinwoo turned the number over in his head. If he filed an objection now, he'd get an answer 47 years later. That was the moment the generation ship would reach its destination. He couldn't get an answer until they arrived.
When he stepped out of the interview room, the corridor lights were shifting into night mode. The generation ship's day was programmed on a 24-hour cycle. Right now the brightness corresponded to 7 in the evening. Jinwoo walked toward the residential block in Sector 4. The doors of the living quarters ran down both sides of the corridor at regular intervals. Unit 283. Jinwoo's home. He opened the door and went inside. Suhyeon was feeding Hanbyeol at the table. Hanbyeol saw Jinwoo and smiled.
"Dad!"
Jinwoo took off his shoes, came in, and ran a hand over Hanbyeol's hair. Suhyeon looked at his face.
"Something happen?"
Jinwoo said as he sat down at the table,
"I'll tell you later."
Hanbyeol said, scooping up a spoonful of rice,
"Dad, the alarm went off in Sector 3 today, right? I heard it."
Jinwoo nodded.
"A ventilation valve malfunction. We fixed it fast."
After Hanbyeol was asleep, Jinwoo sat in the folding chair in the living room and told Suhyeon. She heard him out to the end and stayed quiet for a long while. Through the window, the ship's central axis was visible. The work lights installed along the axis stretched out in a long line, never going dark even at night. Suhyeon said,
"You're saying your father—Han Taeho—isn't your biological father?"
Jinwoo nodded. Suhyeon slowly pressed a hand to her forehead.
"And that's something that happened on Earth 12 years ago, and it's changing your score here, now."
Jinwoo nodded, watching the lights along the central axis.
Suhyeon asked,
"Who is this Park Sangmin?"
Jinwoo shook his head.
"I don't know. I've never heard of him."
Suhyeon took Jinwoo's hand. His hand was cold. Hers was warm. That difference in temperature traveled up the back of his hand and along his arm. Jinwoo said,
"I can't even ask my mother. She's 12.4 light-years away too."
Suhyeon bit her lip.
"There's no way around it?"
Jinwoo didn't answer. Outside the window, the lights of the central axis stretched on and on.
The next morning, Jinwoo didn't report to the Calibration Room. Instead he went to the generation ship's medical records archive. Lower level of Sector 6, a cramped space where ventilation pipes crossed the ceiling. Twelve refrigerated storage units lined the wall. Blood samples of every passenger from the time of departure were kept there. Jinwoo requested his own sample. The attendant checked the paperwork, took a vial out of a refrigerated unit, and handed it over. Inside the clear container, 0.5 milliliters of deep red liquid. Jinwoo's blood, drawn on Earth 12 years ago.
Jinwoo carried the vial to the medical lab. The generation ship's gene-analysis equipment was basic, but a paternity check was within its reach. The problem was that there was nothing to compare against. Han Taeho's genetic data wasn't on the ship. It was only on Earth. 12.4 light-years away. Park Sangmin's genetic data was, of course, absent too. All Jinwoo could do was stare at his own blood. Analyzing his own genes wouldn't tell him who his father was. Jinwoo set the vial carefully on the lab table and looked at it for a long time. The red liquid in the clear container. Himself, 12 years ago. This blood had been drawn on Earth, the same blood had been analyzed on Earth, and the result had flown 12.4 years to get here—and now it was changing Jinwoo's score.
At lunch Jinwoo went to the communal cafeteria in Sector 2. Passengers stood in line receiving their rationed meals. Hydroponic vegetables and synthetic protein. The man in line ahead of Jinwoo turned around. He was the husband of the 71-year-old woman Jinwoo had ruled 'fit' in the Calibration Room the day before. The man recognized Jinwoo and bowed his head.
"Thank you for checking my wife's score. I heard she's stayed eligible for the second-round treatment."
Jinwoo nodded.
"A 0.3 percent deviation is within the allowable range."
The man smiled.
"Thanks to you, Calibrator, my wife can get her treatment."
Jinwoo took his tray and sat at an empty seat. He chewed the synthetic protein. A tough, fishy taste lingered on his tongue. Jinwoo thought of the list of people he'd pressed the 'fit' button for. Thousands over 9 years. The finger that had protected their scores couldn't protect his own now.
In the afternoon, Jinwoo went back to Section Chief Yun.
"Is there no way to grant an exception under the generation ship's internal regulations?"
Section Chief Yun opened the rulebook. Generation Ship Identity Management Regulations, Article 31: Earth-side administrative corrections take effect the moment they are received. No exceptions. Article 32: Appeals against a score recalculation must be filed with the originating institution. Section Chief Yun closed the rulebook and said,
"Those are the rules."
Jinwoo asked,
"If I send an appeal to Earth, it takes 24.8 years for an answer to come. That's the arrival time. If I miss the window for the second round of treatment in the meantime, it's biologically irreversible."
Section Chief Yun looked at Jinwoo. His gaze wavered for an instant, then steadied.
"I know."
When Jinwoo got back to the Calibration Room, 14 new files had come up on the queue. Other people's scores needed verifying. Jinwoo opened the first file. Man, 43. Memory index deviation: 0.1 percent. Fit. He pressed the button. Second file. Woman, 58. Deviation: 0.7 percent. Within tolerance. Fit. Third. Fourth. Jinwoo's finger moved mechanically. Fit, fit, fit.
That evening Jinwoo took Hanbyeol to the generation ship's observation room. A small chamber at the end of the central axis. Beyond the reinforced transparent panel, space opened out. Gliese 667 C sat dead ahead. It still couldn't be seen with the naked eye, but on the magnified display of the observation instruments, three red points formed a triple star. The place they would reach in 47 years. Hanbyeol pointed at the screen.
"Dad, what's there when we get there?"
Jinwoo said,
"There's a new planet. The place we're going to live."
Hanbyeol asked,
"Does it have night there too?"
Jinwoo answered,
"It does. But with 3 suns the nights might be short."
Hanbyeol laughed.
"3 suns? Then are there 3 shadows too?"
Jinwoo laughed.
"That's right. 3 shadows."
Jinwoo brushed the hair back from Hanbyeol's forehead.
On the way out of the observation room, Jinwoo ran into Seoyeon. She was leaning against the corridor wall. Seeing Jinwoo, she straightened up.
"Han Jinwoo."
Hanbyeol looked up at Seoyeon. Seoyeon gave a small wave. Hanbyeol hid behind his father. Jinwoo said,
"Hanbyeol, Dad's just going to talk for a minute. Wait on that bench there."
Hanbyeol ran off to the bench in the corridor. Seoyeon lowered her voice.
"I'm telling you this off the record."
Jinwoo looked at her. Seoyeon said,
"Earth Communications Reception did a preliminary scan of the next signal bundle, and there's a chance it contains a death record for a man named Park Sangmin. Decryption isn't finished yet, but a match came up in the name index."
Jinwoo's feet stopped.
"A death record?"
Seoyeon nodded.
"If Park Sangmin is confirmed dead, the biological-father relationship gets dissolved. The relationship with your originally registered biological father, Han Taeho, could be restored. And then there's a chance your score goes back to what it was."
Jinwoo looked at Seoyeon. The fluorescent light lit only half of her face.
"A chance."
Seoyeon said,
"Decryption will take 3 to 5 days. It's not certain."
Jinwoo asked,
"And if that record isn't Park Sangmin."
Seoyeon paused for a moment.
"Then your current score stands. 64.8."
After Seoyeon left, Jinwoo went to Hanbyeol, who was waiting on the bench. Hanbyeol was lying on the bench, looking up at the ceiling.
"Dad, the ceiling's spinning."
Jinwoo smiled.
"That's the generation ship turning."
Hanbyeol sat up and asked,
"Doesn't it make you dizzy, Dad?"
"It made me dizzy at first."
Hanbyeol took his father's hand. It was a small hand. Hanbyeol's warmth passed into Jinwoo's palm. The two of them walked toward Sector 4. The corridor's night lighting stretched long beneath their feet.
3 days passed. There was no word from Seoyeon. On the morning of the 4th day, Jinwoo was reviewing files in the Calibration Room when his hand stopped. The file on the screen belonged to a 19-year-old man. A child born on the generation ship. Memory index deviation: 2.1 percent. Exceeding the upper tolerance limit of 2.0 by 0.1 percent. By the regulations, it was 'unfit.' An unfit ruling would lower his Identity Continuity Score, and his longevity treatment grade could be downgraded. Jinwoo looked at the screen. 2.1 percent. Just 0.1 percent lower and it would have been fit. Jinwoo's finger hung between the 'fit' button and the 'unfit' button. 0.1 percent. It might well fall within the margin of measurement error. If a re-measurement were requested, the result might come out different. But requesting a re-measurement wasn't at the Calibrator's discretion—it had to come from the person's own application. Jinwoo pressed the 'unfit' button. He couldn't manipulate someone else's score. Manipulation exactly like that was the reason his own score had been broken.
On the afternoon of the 5th day, a message came from Seoyeon. Jinwoo opened it in the Calibration Room. 'Decryption complete. Park Sangmin death record confirmed. Time of death: September, Earth year 2053. Cause: accidental death.' Jinwoo looked at the screen. Park Sangmin was dead. 12.4 years ago. Less than a year after Jinwoo boarded the generation ship. The man had died just 2 years after the record naming him Jinwoo's biological father was created. He was someone Jinwoo had never once met. He knew neither his face nor his voice. That man's genes might be inside Jinwoo's body, or they might not. Earth had simply said so.
Jinwoo contacted Administration Section 1. Now that Park Sangmin's death had been confirmed, he asked, would the biological-father relationship be dissolved and his prior relationship with Han Taeho restored? Section Chief Yun's reply was short.
"I'll check the regulations."
The answer came 2 hours later. 'Article 31-2: Should the subject of a corrected record die, the corrected record shall be maintained, but the relationship shall be dissolved. Restoration of the prior record requires a separate administrative correction, which falls under the jurisdiction of the originating agency.' The originating agency. Earth. 12.4 light-years.
Jinwoo sat in front of the monitor. The number 64.8 hung on the screen. Even with Park Sangmin dead, the score did not come back. To restore the relationship with Han Taeho, he would have to request an administrative correction from Earth, and that was a 24.8-year round trip. In the meantime, Jinwoo's biological age would keep climbing. Miss the window for the second treatment, his medical records said, and the effect of the cellular regeneration would plummet. The optimal window: before 45. Jinwoo's current age: 38. If he did not receive treatment within 7 years, the chance was gone. He could not wait 24.8 years.
Jinwoo rose from his chair and left the Calibration Room. He walked the corridor. Past Zone 3, Zone 2, Zone 1, to the observation room. No one was there. Beyond the reinforced panel, the stars. Directly ahead, in the generation ship's line of travel, lay Gliese 667 C. Still invisible to the naked eye. The place they would reach 47 years from now. Jinwoo stood with his palm pressed to the panel. The cold beyond the glass came through his hand. The temperature of space. In a place near 270 degrees below zero Celsius, a single thin panel was all that stood between Jinwoo and the void. One sheet of paper 12.4 light-years away had cut Jinwoo's score, and only a sheet of paper from that same distance could restore it.
Jinwoo came home. In the living room, Suhyeon was taping one of Hanbyeol's drawings to the wall. A planet with 3 suns. A person with 3 shadows. Hanbyeol had drawn it. Suhyeon looked at Jinwoo and asked.
"Did the result come back?"
Jinwoo nodded.
"The score isn't coming back."
Suhyeon's hand dropped from the wall. The half-taped drawing slid down. She caught it again. Jinwoo went to her side and pressed the other half of the tape flat. The planet with 3 suns held fast to the wall. Jinwoo said,
"I'm going to apply for the first treatment."
Suhyeon looked at him.
"The first one's only 15 years."
Jinwoo nodded.
"Until Hanbyeol turns 54. That's enough."
Suhyeon's eyes went red. Jinwoo laid a hand on her shoulder. She took it. The two of them stood before the planet Hanbyeol had drawn.
The next morning, Jinwoo submitted the application for first-stage longevity treatment. The clerk at the Administration Section 1 reception window took the papers and looked at Jinwoo's face. It was not common for a Calibrator to apply for the first treatment. Most Calibrators were on the second stage or higher. The clerk studied him a moment, then filed the papers without a word. Jinwoo took the receipt and slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket. The corner of the paper met his fingertips. He went in to the Calibration Room for work. 9 new files had come up on the waiting list. Jinwoo opened the first. Someone's memory index spread across the monitor. Recall patterns in the left hemisphere's hippocampal region. Jinwoo checked the data and pressed the button. The Calibration Room's cooling unit hummed low. The vibration of the generation ship's rotation traveled up the chair legs to the soles of his feet. Jinwoo opened the next file.
