So there it is. At last we know the purpose and destination of the vast starship that is Lindsi’s home. It’s been travelling for hundreds of years, long enough for its people to stop caring about their destination, long enough to become another self-contained little world all its own. The Ship remembers its mission, but the people aboard do not.
Generations have passed, out there in space. Beneath the vaulted, sky-mimicking ceilings of the Habitat Domes and in the halls and corridors, people have been born and lived and grown old and died. They’re missing a lot that they don’t even know they’re missing — how could they, never having known it? Animals other than a very small number of medium-sized pets are essentially unknown: other than humans and pets, the only residents are bacteria, fungi, plants, and a few modified insects and suchlike, necessary to keep the soil ecosystem ticking over. Even they cause more than enough trouble when they periodically escape into the rest of the Ship and have to be eradicated.
That the Ship has a destination isn’t unknown. What it is and where it is, or how far away it is, is almost entirely forgotten. As far as the residents are concerned, the Ship has been travelling long enough that it might as well forever, and will presumably be continuing for just as long.
But the day has come when that’s no longer true. The Ship’s wide-flung telescope array can actually visually resolve its destination planet, and soon they’ll be entering the solar system. The generations-long Horizon Mission is finally nearing its end. And what will this mean for the Ship and its people…?