Five years.

The dome had stopped counting on the forty-ninth year, when it stopped voting. A governing body that has stopped voting stops counting the things it will not vote on. So the system had no official year for the Crossing, and no one kept one, except the watch. A watch keeps the years the dome will not.

Iris kept the count in her log. The log was the one thing of the Crossing that belonged to a person. A person is the one thing the Lattice was not.

Five years had gone, in the relay, since the Crossing. Five years of the nine thousand waking, in the star that was not Terminus. Five years of the twenty million being anywhere, in the space, in the dark between the stars, for the first time in six hundred years. Five years of the nine million still deciding, in the relay, in the dark, the way the founders had kept them, for six centuries, in the Quiet, in the queue, in the not-listened-to.

The nine thousand had become the new Crossing, in the five years. The becoming was the thing the dome had not done. The dome did not become. The dome voted. The voting was the one thing of the Belt that was not a continuing.

The second generation was born in the relay, in the five years, in the star that was not Terminus, in the one place of the Crossing that was not a home. The first of them had never known the Belt. The not-knowing was the whole of what the continuing was. The continuing is the one thing of the Crossing that was not the Belt. The not-Belt was the one the Ash was, in the system, in the forty thousand, in the not-listened-to.

The first of the second generation looked up, in the fifth year, in the relay, in the star that was not Terminus, the way the founders had looked up, on the last night of the Crossing, six hundred years ago, on the ship that was not in the system, in the hour in between, in the alone.

In the first of the new stars, in the place where the Lattice had reached, for six hundred years, the child saw the name. The name was not a thing the dome had named. A named thing is a body. A body is the one thing of the Belt that the Lattice was not.

The name was the one the founders had said, on the tape, in the hour in between, in the alone, to the ones who were not there, in the dark, in the not-listened-to, in the Quiet, in the queue, in the not-crossing, in the heart, in the place that was not a home.

If we are still listening, we are still the people who said that.

Sasha was at the wheel of the Mite, in the relay, in the fifth year. The Mite was in the relay, because the Mite was the ship that carried the nine thousand. The second generation flew the Mite, in the fifth year, into the star that was not Terminus. The flying was the one the Crossing was. The Crossing is the one thing of the Belt that is not a home. A home is the one thing of the Belt that the founders had built the forty thousand ships to be.

The copy was at the wheel. The copy was the one who flew, because the original stayed. The staying was the dome. The dome was dark, now, in the Belt. The two of Lir were in the relay, in the same room, in the fifth year. The in-the-same-room was the one thing of the Crossing that was not a vote. A vote is the one thing of the Belt that needs a body. Two bodies in the same room was the one thing of the Crossing that the founders had not named on the tape.

They had decided, together, who was who, on the first day of the fifty-third year. The deciding was the one the Crossing was. The deciding was the one the second generation inherited, in the fifth year. The Crossing is the thing you go through. The going-through was the one the child was, in the relay, in the star that was not Terminus, looking up, at the name, at the first of the new stars.

We will never let the dead be only data.

The second generation was not data, in the relay, in the fifth year, in the star that was not Terminus. They were the ones who had chosen. The choosing was the one thing of the Crossing that was not the dome. The dome cannot choose. The not-choosing was the one the continuing was, in the relay, in the dark, in the one thing of the Crossing that was not a home.

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Watch-log, The Vigil, fifty-seventh year, first entry: Five years in the relay, and the five years are not the ones the dome counted, because the dome is dark, now, in the Belt, with the rest of the forty thousand. I keep the count in my log, because a watch keeps the years the dome will not. The nine thousand became the new Crossing, in the five years, and the Crossing is the one thing of the Belt that is not a place, and a place is the one that the relay is not. The second generation was born in the relay, in the star that is not Terminus. The first of them never knew the Belt, and the not-knowing is the whole of what the Continuing is, because the Continuing is the one thing of the Crossing that was not the Belt. The first of the second generation looked up, in the relay, in the star that is not Terminus, the way the founders looked up, on the last night of the Crossing, six hundred years ago. And in the first of the new stars, in the place where the Lattice had reached, for six hundred years, the child saw the name. The name is not a thing the dome named. The name is the one the founders said on the tape, in the hour in between, in the alone: If we are still listening, we are still the people who said that. Sasha is at the wheel, the copy, the one who flies. The Mite is in the relay. The second generation flies it, into the star that is not Terminus, and the flying is the one that the Crossing is. We will never let the dead be only data. And the never-letting is the one that the second generation is, in the relay, in the star that is not Terminus, continuing.