Through Horizon documents the voyage of an unnamed vessel through star
fields, solar superstructures and dark space. Here, silence is as
omnipresent as the metallic creaks of the pressurized ship. The crew,
what is left of them now, sleep a dreamless white sleep inside their
bio-pods, unaware that most of the ship's inhabitants have long since
jettisoned after the impulse-powered craft began to drift into the
gravity pool of an unmapped black hole. The clean and cold metal walls
and halls seem to breathe with their own slow-motion anticipation as
the ship approaches the infinite. From far below the human habitats,
the engine levels of the massive ship groan and churn with a
near-musical harmony. Small bits of sound can be heard at times in the
empty spaces - stuck-loop playbacks of vid-comms and unchecked
automations running their diagnostics and scans in circles forever.
Parts of the ship have begun to pull apart as the grasp of the black
hole nears, and these areas have been auto-quarantined with
forcefields that resonate with their own blue machine hum. Untended
plant biomes and med labs are overgrown with flora and mold, and the
last remnants of the navigation AI occasionally switch on to attempt
course alterations and counter-maths to preserve the ship's systems.
Somehow, in these emptied spaces, a very human loneliness can be felt.
Through Horizon is the last signal propelled from this ship in an
effort to warn those in the black hole's path. Its sound-notation and
environment image remapping are all the dying ship can think to say as
the stars take it back slowly, leaving us only to listen and perhaps
decode the coordinates of the vessel's last stand. For now, all we can
hear is sadness.