For that would have been the way those back on Earth would have made the ship. Simple. Simple beyond belief. So simple that any fool could land it. Just anyone at all who could punch a button.
For certainly they must have feared or guessed what might happen on the ship after several generations. They must have known how Earth would be forgotten and that there be a cultural adaptation to the ship.
Feared or guessed—or planned?
Was the culture of the ship a part of the master plan?
Could the Folk have lived through a thousand years if they had known of the purpose and the destination?
And the answer seemed to be that they couldn't have been able to, for they would have felt robbed and cheated; would have gone mad with the knowledge that they were no more than carriers of life, that their lives and the lives of many generations after them would be canceled out so that after many generations their descendants could arrive at the target planet.
There had been only one way to beat that situation —and that was to forget what it was all about. And that is what had happened and it had been for the best.
The Folk, after the first few generations, had lived their little lives in the little circle of their homegrown culture and that had been enough. After that the thousand years had been as nothing, for no one knew about the thousand years.
And all the time the ship bored on through space, heading for the target, heading straight and true. Jon Hoff went down to the telescope and centered Planet V and clamped over the radar controls that would hold it centered. He went back to the computator and pushed the stud that said telescope and the other stud that said orbit.
Then he sat down to wait.